Wizard of Columbia
by Seanbob04
Summary: My Godfather, likely dead. Myself, lost in my own world. They tell me the girl needs saving, well... my "saving people" thing guarantees that. Just one thing I can't understand, how the f*ck does a city fly without magic? HP/Infinite crossover
1. Beginning a Path

**Beginning a path**

"Come on! You can do better than that!"

A flash of red light burned into his vision.

"SIRIUS!"

The mad cackling of a women with wild black hair.

A majestic stone archway. A long tattered cloth fluttering in an unseen wind. The gaunt face of a man with long black hair and trim beard, his face frozen in mild surprise as he was thrown back towards the strange Veil.

The pounding of a pair of feet rang in his ears, he could feel his heart hammering wildly inside his chest. His blood was rushing through his body with a burning sensation, his lungs gulping in deep and quick bursts of air as his body hurtled forwards, fuelled by a blooming feeling of desperation.

"HARRY!"

He saw the silhouette of a man to his side, the arms reaching out towards him. To stop him. No. No he would not be stopped. Nimbly dodging to the side, he charged forwards. His arm reached out towards the falling man in an attempt to catch him. He was nearly there, barely a foot away before it happened.

He tripped.

...On a flat stone floor, he somehow tripped. Rage and shame built up underneath his wild desperation as he collapsed. Helplessly, he watched the image of the last person he could call family fell through the Veil.

The thick ratty cloth fluttered as the form of Sirius Black, the Dark Lords right hand man, wanted mass murderer and head of one of the darkest houses in Magical Britain, disappeared with nary a sound.

Gone.

The young man on the floor stared with horror, and building grief . His emerald eyes shining behind his squinted glasses, half hidden behind his long, messy black hair. His pale hands clenched tightly and began to shake as his form began to tremble, his knuckles whitening and throat pulsing as he tried to repress his emotions, swallowing with a dry mouth.

He had failed to save him. His godfather, the falsely accused Death Eater, framed for the betrayal and murder of his parents. The man who had endured 12 long and torturous years in Azkaban prison before escaping. Escaping to protect his precious godson. On the run, barely surviving and scavenging on trash just to see him safe and happy.

All that sacrifice for him, and he couldn't even stop him from falling through a god-damn curtain!

He slowly stood. Ignoring the aches that raced through his battered body, his hand gripped onto his Holly and Phoenix feather wand tightly. There was a thumping inside his ears, blocking out all other sounds. His breathing was harsh and hard, inhaling sharply through his nose as his eyes burned with tears that he would not let fall.

The grief was fresh, but all he could feel was an intense burning building in his chest and rushing through his body, replacing his blood with fire. He felt his magic begin to writhe and twist inside him as his mind began to process. Sirius was gone, he couldn't be helped now.

He twisted his body round sharply, his narrowed eyes locking onto a set of dark purple orbs, framed in a gaunt face pulled taut with a manic grin and messy tangled locks. He didn't need his hearing right now, no. He could feel the shrieking laughter emanating from her wretched form.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

With a snarl, the boy slashed his wand downwards, a massive pulse of red energy exploded outwards and slammed into the form of his godfathers killer and threw her backwards, her cackling visage twisted into a howl of surprise as her body spun round like a top before she crumpled unceremoniously onto the floor.

He may not be able to save his godfather, but by merlin he could avenge him.

Striding forwards, the teen began to fling forward a barrage of spells that came to him naturally from all his duelling practice with the DA. Stunners, bone-breakers and a variety of hexes and jinxes. The dark witch was quick to leap onto her feet, another wicked smile tearing across her face as she began to deflect his spells with surprising grace from one who had recently escaped prison.

He could hear more shouts coming from around him, but he ignored them all as he focused intently on the wretch in front of him. There was a red mist settling over his gaze as his spells came out more violently. At the back of his mind, he knew this was the worst state to be in when engaging in a duel, especially with one who was feared as the darkest witch of her generation. But he didn't care, all that mattered was that this...this..bitch! Would. Fall. To. Him!

The grin on on her face had fallen into a scowl by now, she appeared to be sweating a little from the constant shielding, it seemed to be taking it's toll on her. She responded by sharply twisting her wand between his spellfire, sending forth a torrent of purple flames that he dodged by jumping backwards. As he brought his wand back to bare, his eyes widened at multiple flares of magic that shrieked towards him.

Frantically ducking and dodging, he cursed himself as his mind raced for a defence he could bring to bare, but the constant spellfire from Bellatrix was insanely fast! He could barely keep up dodging as the crazy witch bombarded him as he deflected what he could. He gasped as a yellow coloured spell flew by his face, barely scorching his skin and momentarily blinding him.

Panicked by the yellow afterglow his vision had become, he stabbed his wand forwards.

"Protego!" He screamed, a blue tinged fabric of magic hummed into existence, the loud clangs telling him he'd successfully deflected the follow up spells. Grinning, he moved his hand away from his face as his eyesight re-adjusted.

"FUCK!"

...Only to let out a roar of pain as a red spell sliced through his left hand, separating the smallest digit clean off. Distracted from the sudden loss, of his shield as well as his finger. He was defenceless as another spell crashed into his side, blasting him backwards. His back smacked harshly against the top of the stone arch, a gasp tore from his chest at the impact, before gravity took over and he fell with an almighty thump onto the floor bellow. His vision flared white and he bit his tongue so hard he was surprised he didn't lose it as well.

Gasping, he spat out the mouthful of blood to the side as he rolled onto his back, before hissing and grasping the bloodied stump on his hand to quell the blood that was leaking out. If it didn't hurt so bad he'd have been grateful it wasn't the whole hand that was missing. As it was, he was cursing up a storm as he struggled to get to his knees.

"Harry!" A voice shouted. Turning, he had time to view Remus looking towards him, panic on his face. He made an attempt to move for him only to be intercepted by another death eater who began to throw multiple spells at him, distracting him.

"Aww itty bitty baby got a boo boo! Want mama Bella to kiss it better?" Came the sadistic croon of his opponent.

Turning to the voice, he could only let out a scream as a red beam of magic crashed into his body. His back arched and he began thrashing wildly as the utter pain of a million tiny white knives pierced his being, setting his nerves alight with fire.

The spell let up and he lay flat on his back, his whole body violently twitching in the aftermath of what could only be the cruciatus curse. Bellatrix might not have been as magically strong as her master, but the cruciatus didn't need more power to be effective. All it needed was hate, and a need to see another suffer. And that was practically all this women wanted. Heck that was probably what she would see if she ever stared into the mirror of erised from his first year.

"Aww does baby not want his medicine? But however else shall he get better?" She sung gleefully, ascending the small stone steps towards his body. Unaware of the grip he now had on his wand.

Pulling on the last of his energy, he rolled over and aimed his wand at the surprised witch, and with a roar cast the first spell to pop into his head.

"REDUCTO"

A red bolt of magic the size of a bowling ball shot out of his wand, only to clang off a sudden bronze coloured shield that appeared before Bellatrix at the last second. He could only watch in frustration and a small amount of panic, that had been his last shot at getting out of this. He was utterly drained.

With a vicious scowl on her face, Bellatrix gave him a sharp kick in the ribs, causing him to wheeze out in pain. "Clearly not had enough medicine yet have you boy? Well don't worry, mama Bella's got a whole lot more for you!" With that, she fired another cruciatus into his body, cackling gleefully as he writhed and screamed beneath her.

It was the worst kind of pain you could ever experience, some people say that back in the war some Aurors had learned how to momentarily shrug off this particular curse, but what could a 15 year old do? As he thrashed and twitched, his eyes fell upon the Veil ahead of him, desperately wishing he could just throw himself in after his godfather, to escape the unending pain of the curse, of being the target of the worst Dark Lord in history. He just wanted it all to end...

...wait, why was there a hazy grey static floating there?

As he watched, he noticed that the Veil seemed to be...switching, ever so slightly. The ragged heavy cloth switching to a greyish...tear? between the stone arch and back again. Was he finally loosing his mind? Was he seeing things that weren't there? Was he becoming...like Neville's parents?

He felt the curse lift off him, and could hear Bellatrix mocking him, but it was if she was speaking from a massive distance, her voice echoing and muted through his, by the feeling, bleeding ears. He kept his gaze upon the flickering phenomenon, mesmerised. What did it mean? What sort of magic was this?

He was pulled from his musing by the feeling of coldness on his chest, looking down he noticed Bellatrix had sliced open the front of his robes, exposing his pale chest. His confusion lasted for but a moment before more burning white pain burned into his skin, only this time it was accompanied by the smell of burning flesh.

Had his throat not already been raw from doing so, he would have screamed. However, he could only settle on a hiss of agony as he watched the pale skin of his chest redden and blister, before blackening in some places. Was she...was she branding something onto his SKIN!? He was going to murder this bitch!

Roughly he was yanked into the air by unseen hands, Bellatrix standing in front of him, her wand held aloft as her maniacal grin simmered down into a surprisingly gentle smile, she stalked towards his suspended form as he watched through tired eyes and leaned her head next to his ear, her warm breath tickling the side of his neck and she spoke softly and clearly into his ear.

"For the Dark Lord..."

With a sudden force against his chest, he was sent sailing backwards. He could almost see in the background as everyone turned to face them, the looks of the people he knew morphing into looks of horror. His eyes found those of Remus Lupin, the man's eyes were wild and desperate. The same eyes Sirius must have seen from him not five minutes ago when he passed...through...the...

'Well shit'

With those thoughts, his body passed through the archway and through the veil of death.

Harry Potter felt his world end, his head burst open and something was burning through his chest for release. He screamed as his mind, body and soul became aflame with pure white agony. As his vision blackened he had an unusual final thought before he gave into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

'Why didn't I see the curtain?'

**A/N- Well...it's been quite a while eh? Just over 7 years I think, well ain't that a mindfuck?**

**I fell back onto the lurker scene after I lost all motivation to write anymore fanfiction, my muse left me for a cider farmer and my time to even sit down and attempt to hash out anymore stories to this bitch called 'life'. Don't like her, she made me take 'responsibility' instead of just goofing around and doing what I want.**

**So yea, let's call this an experiment. See if I can get back into this whole writing thing.**

**As you can tell this is a Harry Potter/Boishock Infinite crossover. I was very late to that bandwagon but absolutely loved the game, had a look into bioshock fanfiction then eventually towards crossover fanfiction, which there ain't all that much of unfortunately. Hence the old saying of "write your own" came to mind and I sat my arse down and hashed out a rough draft. Heck I even wrote out possible plot ideas and crossover changes I could do...**

**...with a paper and pen. Yea that's how much my brain started buzzing on it. So much potential for this crossover I thought, lets see if anyone else agrees.**

**Updates will be wonky, whenever I can etc etc so yea...drop me a review and lets see what becomes of this spark of muse!**


	2. Forging of a Debt

**Forging of a Debt.**

_He was dreaming. And a pretty nice dream it was as well. Makes a change from all the creepy visions of the Department of Mysteries, or seeing through the eyes of a giant snake as it attacks your best mates dad. Definitely better than the Mistletoe botched kiss he had with Cho Chang. That was one nightmare he definitely could do without, thank you._

_To be fair, I don't really know what I'm dreaming about. It's more what I'm...feeling? Happy, content, lighter than air? That sort of dream where you have no idea what's happening but you can still feel. Are those really dreams then? Where you feel things instead of see them? Hmm weird._

_Anyhow, I still don't really know what's happening here. I should be an utter mess at the moment. I mean, I just died didn't I? Not five minutes after my beloved godfather at that. Stupid Sirius, with his stupid grin and his bark like laugh and his god awful "punnys" as he called them. But come on! Who the heck makes "funny puns" when duelling for your life with your powerful and super crazy cousin?_

_A small smirk comes to my lips, yea to be fair that was definitely his style. Man couldn't resist riling people up, years of practice as a Marauder that survived through his stint in Azkaban. The only man brave enough, he'd brag, to have always seen the line that must never be crossed. Then moonwalking over it and into the glorious sunset of hilarity and scandal._

_How the heck does he even know what moonwalking is!_

_So to get back on topic, yea I'm surprisingly chipper for a dead man. It's weird, the grief and incomprehension of my current state of existence is, I dunno. Dulled? It's like I'm being given a break from my current emotions to work my logic into calming them down? Whatever it is, it seems to be working. In my dreams at least._

_Oh wait, I cast my eyes around taking in my surroundings. Hmm, that's a interesting. I appear to be in a weird white expanse of nothingness now. Check out the cool, marble like white floor flowing into a gorgeous white horizon and meeting that beautiful white sky. And look, not a cloud to be seen either! Unless the clouds were also white...hmm._

_My ears twitch. Did I just hear...voices? That would be a first. He had no idea how long he'd been...dreaming, but nothing else seemed to be happening around here. He'd tried to walk but couldn't tell if it made a difference or not, nothing changed at all no matter what he did._

"_...unusual, another one? This is..."_

"_...unprecedented, entirely new window has..."_

"_...should help him, a lot of blood by th..."_

"_...yes yes, wouldn't do us any favours if..."_

_Hmm, yep he was definitely hearing voices now. How strange, man and a women by the sounds of it. Not only was he dead and dreaming he was hearing voices? Great. Just friggin fantastic! If he could try and wake up he could get some answers, but how do you awaken from a dream that your having when your dead!?_

**SPLASH!**

Harry Potter let out a strangled shriek as he was awoken, of all things, by a bucket of water being drenched over him. This quickly lead to a minute or so of coughing and spluttering as he leaned on his side, heaving in gasps of air and expelling any more water from his lungs.

_'Well...that's one way of doing it. Yeeuch is this...salt water? Merlin it tastes horrible. Who the he...oooooow'_

With his immediate concern of not drowning, he slid onto his back and became immediately aware of the sorry state his body was in. He was aching everywhere, and there was a low burning throb upon both his chest and left hand. Inspection of both saw them both wrapped heavily in medical tape, his chest bandage held a red gel like substance onto his burnt chest which gave tingles he could feel mildly through the pain.

It was the examination of his left hand, however, that had him sucking in a deep breath through his nose. Heavily wrapped as it may be, even he couldn't fail to understand what the sight of three fingers and a thumb meant. '_That god damn psycho bitch will pay dearly for this. Dearly!'_

"Yes, quite the state to find yourself in. One would almost think you'd been through a war" A woman's voice interrupted his inner cursing. Tilting his head, his eyes came upon a red haired woman. A rather strangely dressed one at that.

She was wearing a long brown skirt, with a white shirt, green tie, light brown vest and tan coloured jacket. It was a smart looking outfit, he noticed, it just looked rather...old fashioned. She had a fairly good poker face as well by the looks of it.

"Umm...not to be rude Ma'am, but who are you? And where am I?" Harry cautiously asked.

"My name is Rosalind Lutece, and the delicious question is not where. But.."

"...when. Mr Potter" A male voice interrupted her, startling Harry. Rosalind merely blinked and turned her gaze to behind him.

"Ah, Robert. What do you think then?" Rosalind asked the man curiously.

'Robert' could only have been her brother, Harry thought, taking in the man's appearance as he stepped around into view. Also a redhead, he was wearing practically the same outfit as his 'sister' was, only minus the jacket and with trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and he appeared to be drying his hands on a white and red cloth.

...oh.

That cloth wasn't meant to be red. '_Guess he's the one who's been patching me back up_' Harry noticed with morbid curiosity. '_That's a lot of blood..._'

Robert stood next to his sister, his arms crossed lightly behind his back as he answered her. "Well, the wounds were certainly numerous. Mostly cuts and scrapes, a few burns as well. Most unusual is what appears to be trauma to the nerves. He's only just stopped twitching. Not to mention the burn to his chest and the loss of his..."

"All well and good dear brother, but not the answer I was after" Rosalind interrupted, a thin eyebrow arching upwards.

Robert gave a small 'hmm' in response. "Just the same as before, same origin, same internal energy"

"Natural? Or augmentation of some kind? You know that it can be..."

"Not this, I've never encountered anything quite like it. Definitely natural, no signs of tampering in his genes that I could see. Truly remarkable, some kind of adaptation to...?"

"Possible. Quite exciting don't you think? An entire new area of study for us, I quite welcome the challenge in..."

"Now, now sister. First the boy, then the tests. We've only just adjusted to being scattered, not to mention our unfinished business"

A small frown worked its way over the woman's face, but she turned with folded arms, a familiar 'hmm' escaping her lips.

"You know my feelings on the whole affair, but you're correct. He is starting to look a little lost isn't he?"

Lost wasn't even the word, Harry was utterly baffled. Clearly he wasn't dead, the dull aches and burns of his body gave hint towards that. But if he was alive, then where was he? Where was Sirius? Who were these strange people? How long had he been here?

...Why were they surrounded by all these damn lighthouses?

Just as he opened his mouth with the intent of getting those answers, his jaw quickly clenched together furiously, his undamaged hand flying over his heart as a groan of agony escaped his teeth. His vision descended into a static of colours, a familiar ringing building in his ears. Why the hell were his insides on fire!?

"Robert! Another..."

"Flux, yes I can see that" Robert moved forward swiftly, dropping to his haunches next to the Harry's writhing form. "Mr Potter, listen to me. You need to breathe, long deep breathes. Come now lad, nice deep ones. In and out. In and out"

Barely able to pay attention to the man's voice, he nevertheless followed his instructions. Taking in slow, deliberate gulps of air, he felt the burning begin to subside. Feeling his body be manoeuvred onto its side, he burst into a fit of hacking coughs. Coughs that brought with it a dollops of blood that sprayed onto the stone floor and dribbled down his chin, until finally it was over.

Gasping weakly, more in panic than pain, Harry's mind was in a flurry, spitting out any leftover fluids in his mouth he turned weakly towards Robert, who was still on his haunches beside him observing him intently.

"Wha...what in the hell was that?" He wheezed.

Robert kept his gaze steady, and spoke firmly "That, Mr Potter. Is your body reacting to being where, and when, it does not belong. Your extremely lucky to be alive as it is, and I'm not referring to your wounds. This is not the first flux you've went through"

Shaking his head tiredly, Harry shifted weakly onto his back, staring through half lidded eyes.

"Flux? Not where...or when I belong? What are you talking about? Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here?" His tone became pleading. Robert almost thought it akin to a small child before shaking his head. Technically this young man still was.

Taking a deep breath, he replied "You are here at the beginning, middle and end Mr Potter. From here, you can see the infinite realities of each and every world in this dimension. You are aware of the theory of alternate universes? How each choice in time has several possible outcomes? It exists, and here we can see, and interact with, those outcomes"

Casting his head around softly, Harry whispered "So the lighthouses...? They're..."

"Doorways. At least, that is what our mind shows us. Makes it easier to interact with if it's some form of familiarity. Otherwise, your mind may overload completely. This is not something that we are meant to meddle with. Unless your exceptionally brilliant, of course. Which is why my sister and I are here"

"So...how did you get here? What sort of magic could...could allow you to travel across _dimensions _of all things?"

He was startled when Rosalind, almost forgot, let out a loud snort of incredulity. He turned an inquiring gaze towards the woman.

"Magic? Are you truly so naive as to believe that _magic _exists? I thought most children your age grew out of such silly nonsense. _Magic_ indeed" She trailed off muttering darkly.

Robert, however, had a curious look on his face_. _He looked upwards, as if in thought, before a small smile came across him "Hmm, interesting"

Rosalind looked at her brother in question, who quickly spoke his mind "You forget, sister dear, of our friends little anomaly. Theory; could this magic he refers to be what his unusual form of energy is? "

Rosalind's eyebrows rose (she seemed to be doing that a lot) before a look of contemplation spread across her.

"It's a possibility. Highly unlikely, yet...if true...hmm, fascinating. Definitely worth investigating when we're done here hmm?"

Robert still held his small smile, a sparkle in his eyes told he was just as interested

Harry shook his head slowly "Umm...not to be rude, but muggles...sorry, non magical people aren't supposed to know about magic. It's actually..umm illegal to tell anyone. Statute of Secrecy and all that"

The siblings ignored him, Robert standing up and walking towards his sister again. They shared what appeared to be a silent conversation as Harry tried to gather his scattered thoughts.

"So...umm what now? If I'm not dead then...how do I get back home? Can I even _get _back?"

Both turned and fixed there gaze upon him, Rosalind's features more uncaring once again, but Robert's was contemplative. He tilted his head and appeared to stare into the distance just behind him, his sister following his gaze. Both appeared to be...watching something?

After a few moments, Rosalind's arms crossed in front of her as a small frown appeared on her face, she shot a look to Robert who had an eyebrow raised in question. She shook her head slightly before turning and walking off. To Harry's shock, she disappeared from sight. He hadn't even blinked.

Robert reached towards a tan coloured jacket that was hanging over the stone ledge surrounding the walkway they appeared to be on, shrugging it on casually he spoke without turning around.

"Not to worry Mr Potter, we can send you back without anymore fuss. I imagine you'll find little time has passed since you fell here. Although I must thank you, your presence has shown my sister and I an entirely separate reality that was previously hidden from us. Nothing more satisfying than the challenge of figuring out the unknown. We'll probably be distracted for weeks to come" He grinned cheerfully.

Easing up slowly into a sitting position, Harry was hit by a thought "Mr Lutece, did...did another person arrive with me? Tall, thin, long black hair and beard?"

Robert tilted his head, a small "Ahh" escaping from him.

"I'm afraid not Mr Potter, I'm sorry but I cannot say where your godfather has landed. Although he will most likely be alive, if it's any comfort"

Lowering his head and exhaling softly Harry shook his head. It wasn't, not really. But at least he wasn't dead. Maybe after he helped his friends back at the Ministry he could ask Professor Dumbledore for any help he could have in bringing him back.

Looking back at Robert Lutece as he slowly stood back up, Harry nodded his head warily towards the man.

"Thank you for saving me Sir, I'm forever in your debt for patching me up"

Robert inclined his head in return "Your most welcome Mr Potter, now I believe it's time you return"

Harry paused, before quickly blurting "Why did you dump a bucket of water over my head?"

Robert's smile grew a bit bigger, before tapping his left cheek. Harry looked closer and could see the light purpling of a bruise appearing. What did...?

"Unconscious or not Mr Potter, nobody gets a free hit on Robert Lutece. Farewell"

With that, Harry's world spun around him. The infinite lighthouses around him blurring into a mash of white and black. His eyes clenched shut as his body spun in something a hundred times worse than a portkey.

******Line-break-line-break-line-break-line-break-here-line-break-line-break-line-break-here**

'Ooof!'

He opened his eyes warily, still dizzy from his little spin as he pulled himself to his knee's, his wand clenched in his hand and he took stock of his situation. His wounds, while still sore were tempered under the adrenaline of his twister like journey. And he appeared to have regained a bit of his magic and stamina back from the time he was unconscious. Blinking, he rose to his feet and looked at his surroundings.

There was the Veil, which he was now on the other side of. He spotted Bellatrix's shocked face looking back at him. Actually, _everyone's_ faces looked shocked. The Order and Death Eater's had all paused in their battles to gape at the scene.

When it appeared Bellatrix had done the unthinkable and thrown Harry through the Veil of Death, nobody had just expected him to go sailing right through and come out the other side as if he'd just been thrown through a god damn curtain!

The shock quickly wore off as Tonks and Moody took advantage of the lull in battle and cursed their distracted targets, binding and stunning them. That quickly roused the Death Eaters as they began cursing back rapidly. Harry held his wand aloft as he took a step towards Bellatrix, preparing himself for round two!

...Only for the bitch to turn tail and sprint towards the exit.

Harry gaped for a moment, actually shocked that the fearless dark hand of Voldemort ran from him as like a bat out of hell!

Then the burning throb of his missing finger reminded him that even if she hadn't technically killed Sirius, she'd still cursed him into an unknown universe. Oh yea, and she'd _cut_ his freaking _finger_ off! With a red haze settling over him once more, Harry took off after her.

**Line-break-line-break-line-break-line-break-here-line-break-line-break-line-break-here**

Robert Lutece sat on the stone paths below one of the many lighthouses, his gaze cloudy in thought as he stared into the distance. Mr Potter had been an entirely unforeseen variable in his plans on the future, simply because before his arrival that particular universe had been hidden from both his and his sister's gaze, truly remarkable

It's a shame that the lad probably wouldn't remember any of the details of his little visit with them. The human mind was such a funny thing. It could create memories where none exist, as his sister so frequently remarked. Yet under terrible stress, it could also blur and, in some cases, entirely block them as well. Mr Potter's little episode, or his 'flux' as he'd coined it had shown a remarkable discovery.

His internal energy reacted to the location of his body. It reacted to the lack of...whatever the root of this 'magic' had in his home dimension, to being cut of from the source as it were

And it rebelled, hard, at the loss of the fundamental unknown to it's existence. Could there be a 'point' or a 'well' that all 'magicals' unknowingly drew on that was required to control and tame their 'magic'?

So many theories, so little time to investigate. And experiment. It would appear his sister had already gained a head start on him. She had delved quickly into the knowledge this fresh universe had to offer, no doubt to prove 'magic' to be nothing more than a yet undiscovered form of energy that just needed study to unlock.

He'd just call it magic. It would rile her up something rotten, and that little boy deep inside him that used to run around with a small branch of tree fighting the evil monsters from alternate dimensions was screaming with glee right now.

But Mr Potter. He had potential, if his various futures held steady. A hero to rid the world of one of the sickest and most depraved beings in existence, a powerful mage, a traveller, a seeker of knowledge. Almost all possible branches of success showed that young Mr Potter was a strange mix of warrior and scholar, bringing aid to those in need wherever he could with no thoughts of reward. Slaying beasts, battling all manner of the dark, the depraved and the wretched humanity could create, saving people from burning buildings, getting kittens out of tree's...

...maybe even saving girls from their towers.

His breath hitched as his mind suddenly froze, slowly he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small silver coin. Rolling it absently across his knuckles, his thoughts started back up, plans were prepared and discarded, faster than the speed of light. Ideas and theories began spinning wildly under his red hair.

Constants and variables.

"_I'm forever in your debt for patching me up'_

_In my. Debt. You say?_

Constants. And. Variables

Flipping the coin back up, he caught it and slipped it back into his pocket. Turning, his gaze slid over to a lighthouse in the distance, then to the empty space next to it. Closing his eyes he released took a deep breath, before his eyes snapped open and he nodded his head. Turning away, he gave one last glance at the empty space. He walked off to find Rosalind. This would be most interesting, indeed.

Behind him, in the empty space where he had gazed. Stood a new lighthouse.

Tbc...

**A/N So yea, there's chapter 2. As I thought the more I write into this the more directions my mind starts heading into what I want to do with this story wise. Clearly I need Harry to be a bit older before it hits 'canon' Infinite. Wouldn't do for 15yr old Harry trying to save Elizabeth (Who is 19 if I recall from somewhere)**

**Then my mind starts wondering if the Deathly Hallows could have a role, but I'm already thinking on a limit on the actual magic available, yadda yadda my mind wanders away with plots and plans.**

**Biggest one I could do with help on is a certain Mr Booker DeWitt. Should he be in this story? Or does Harry become the replacement Hero of the Infinite storyline? Hard choice, but I'm leaning towards replacing Booker just to make fight scenes and bonding between Harry and Elizabeth a little easier to flow with.**

**Opinions? R&R.**


	3. Trip Down Memory Lane

**Trip Down Memory Lane**

It was a rather miserable night in late July. Rain was lashing down in thick torrents, the black sky flashing mixes of white and purple lightening overhead. The constant roar of thunder rumbled through the city of London. Many unfortunate to be out in such weather were dashing furiously to reach their cars or their destination. Others ducking inside any form of shelter they could find to for mild release from the drenching they'd received. Many found themselves stuck inside their homes, warm and dry. Merely glancing out at any particular bright flash. Another miserable night was the common thought among many people.

It was on a quite street in the Borough of Islington that there appeared a rather strangely dressed figure. A figure appearing in long black robes with the hood drawn, appearing as if from nowhere. Striding forward with long, graceful steps, the person made there way down the street, passing the rather old and tarnished road sign on it's way. Barely legible, the sign read _Grimmauld Place_ in worn letters.

Coming to a stop, the figure appeared to look around in contemplation. Observing the homes of #11 and #13, it was clear both residents had turned in for the night. The curtains were drawn and the lights extinguished. The figure nodded it's head, before once again disappearing into the night.

Or at least he would have appeared to, to any eyes observing him. Eyes that _were_ able to would have been surprised to see a house appear seemingly from nowhere, squeezing it's way into existence between the two houses. Mounting the stone steps, the figure lay their hand upon the black cast iron doorknob, and with a small click, opened the door and entered the building. With the door closing behind him, the house appeared to squash back into itself and disappear from reality, leaving an empty street behind.

Standing within a long corridor, the person raised a hand and clicked their fingers. Immediately, the pitch blackness was bathed in soft, warm light. All along the walls previously unlit gas lamps flickered into existence one by one, ending with the large ornate chandelier at the foot of the stairs at the end of the hallway igniting.

Throwing the hood back, a young man's face was revealed, a thin face with pale skin, a pair of green eyes peering over half-moon spectacles. Messy black hair ran in waves down to his chin, his face covered with a messy beard.

Harry Potter gave a content sigh. He was home again.

Pulling off suspiciously dry robes, he hung them upon a small coat stand beside him. Giving a small stretch, the bones in his back popping, he let out a loud yawn and ran his hand through his messy locks, revealing what was once his most famous scar. Once a constant, angry red, it had dulled down in his later years following the destruction of the soul fragment it once housed, becoming a thin, barely noticeable mark.

Staring into a mirror that hung next to the stand, he softly ran his fingers through his beard. '_I can't even remember the last time I shaved_' he thought absently. He liked the long hair though, it was certainly stylish looking. A memento in memory of his late godfather.

Walking forwards, he entered a door that lead into what once was the house's dining room. Now it had been converted into a small study for him. Surrounding the walls were a series of bookshelves, all brimming with books on a variety of subjects. An elegant, mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room, covered in strewn parchments, quills, books and the odd drawing of various things, complete with a plush looking chair perched behind it. He'd spent a majority of his post Hogwarts years inside this room, working on his project between the ongoing battles he seemed to wage almost constantly. The joy of being one of the top Hit Wizards in Europe he imagined, it seemed everyone needed his help with one thing or another.

It had been nearly four years since the final death of Lord Voldemort. With the help of his two best friends, he had spent what should have been his final year at school on the run from agents of the dark lord. Various dark wizards, corrupt ministry workers and Death Eater's from the lowliest blood purist thug to the deadly inner circle members. After their defeat by him and his friends at the Department of Mysteries, Harry and his friends had assumed that the chosen hands of Voldemort weren't all that dangerous after their fifteen years of inaction. That was a foolish and costly mistake.

They had barely been locked away for the duration of that summer before they had been released by their master, taking with them the entire horde of Dementors that once guarded Azkaban. And they had been burning with vengeance against him and his friends for their humiliation. Harry believed them to be rather incompetent blood purists, all bark and no bite aside from there use of unforgivable's. But without the threat of failure that held them back when retrieving the prophecy orb, they had quickly went to work on showing why they were the top of Voldemorts soldiers.

In the space of one night, they had set out in several parties on raids against the 'unworthy' and 'traitors' as well as key fighters in Dumbledore's Order. Nearly one hundred witches and wizards were massacred that night, including the top candidate for the Minister of Magic position Amelia Bones, as well as her niece Susan. The Longbottoms ancestral home had been put to the torch, taking with it the Dame Longbottom. Order members Vance, Jones, Mad-Eye and Dung had been brutally tortured and butchered. Kingsley's family had also been massacred, the man himself critically injured and his face horrendously scarred. He'd never walked without a cane after months of recovery.

A lot of his fellow students hadn't returned in his sixth year, including Alicia and Angelina. Katie had never quite been the same after their deaths. Fred and George had never regained that innocence and cheer that surrounded them in their youths, the loss of their girlfriends had forced a gritty maturity upon their shoulders. Pranks became a side project for them, new weapons of war and battle changing traps became their new speciality.

Needless to say, the war quickly escalated. With Rufus Scrimgeour the newly elected Minister, the Veteran of the first war was quick to declare a state of emergency and begin preparations. Clearly his original idea of maintaining an image of peace and security had been tossed with the massacres committed by the death eaters. It was a night that was now considered the official opening shots to the Second Great War of magical Britain.

Although bolstered by their success at cutting moral at the knee's, the death eaters kept mostly to small raids after that night. Hit and run tactics, numerous victims of the imperious curse attacking at random, kidnappings, the whole guerrilla war tactics that once gave rise to a fear that plagued a nation was quickly rekindled. Clearly old Tom wasn't willing to take the short-term benefits that his followers had opened to him. Smart choice, his slow, methodical and systematic gutting of the light side's key players and resources meant there was barely any opposition when he overthrew the government in '97

Letting out a sigh Harry removed his boots and jacket, flicking his wrist he grabbed his wand and waved it over the rooms fireplace, igniting the logs and bathing the room in a delicious warmth. Clad in his trousers, shirt and vest, he sauntered over to a cabinet filled with many variates of muggle whiskeys. Grabbing a tumbler and adding a healthy dose of the strong alcohol, he wandered over to his chair and sat down, another more relaxed sigh escaping his lips as he took a sip of the beverage. The clear, smooth burn he was comfortably familiar with relaxed him as he continued treading down memory lane.

XXXXXXXXXX

Well, before the collapse of the government and following year under brutal dictatorship, Harry himself had been run ragged at Hogwarts. It seemed Dumbledore had felt he had no choice but to take him under his wing in a more dedicated manner than he'd planned. However, with the curse upon his hand he hadn't been as able to work on his duelling skills as much as he'd like. Not that Harry could blame him, as it appeared any use of higher level magic accelerated the curse.

That hadn't stopped his mentor however, as he'd been quick to part with any and all knowledge and wisdom he could. He'd also started him through several exercises he himself had undertaken in his youth, most from when he knew of the eventual duel he'd have with his ex-best friend Gellert Grindelwald. Harry wasn't as talented with transfiguration as Dumbledore himself had been, so they'd hashed out a style that best suited him. That being essentially bludgeoning his opponents with overpowered spells with blistering speed and furious vengeance. The joys of having a massive magical core, he reckoned.

Between these workouts, Dumbledore had shared with him the reason for Voldemort's survival that Halloween night. Horcruxes. Soul anchors, magic most foul even some of the darkest sorcerers in their history had baulked at the very idea. Clearly not a deterrent to Slytherin's heir however. It had taken some doing to gain a certain memory from Horace Slughorn, but he'd been able to get through to the man and convince him to part with it. And with it, Dumbledore had, at last, concrete proof. And with his time dangerously running low, he had decided to take Harry with him to where he believed one may have been hidden.

Hours later, they'd returned to Hogwarts just in time for a death eater party to welcome them. Harry had welcomed the battle, especially with the presence of Bellatrix. It seemed the mad woman had grown extremely wary of him ever since his survival of the veil. As well as the little reminder Tom had given her on trying to slay _his_ target. He'd barrelled straight after her, ignoring Dumbledore's calling for him, leaving the aged man to fight off the Carrow siblings.

Despite her wariness, she was still an extremely dangerous witch. The duel had been fast paced and brutal, the air was practically crackling with magic as he'd battled the bitch. He'd learned to never underestimate his opponents, but as the duel carried on it became obvious that the witch was not going win in an endurance test against him. Her panic had led to more mistakes which he hungrily capitalised on. He began toying with her, goading her and establishing his dominance over her, laughing as her spells became more frantic. He had paid for that bout of arrogance.

Dumbledore had fallen, too weak from the poison in in his system. It would have been but an hour before that curse of his would have taken him, but instead, Harry caught sight too late of the figure lurking up behind his mentor, turning just in time to see him disarmed by _Draco Malfoy_ of all people. Then Snape had appeared, and without given anyone time to react, launched Avada Kadavra into the defenceless and panting old man, throwing him backwards off the tower.

Stunned by the speed things had turned to shit, Bellatrix had taken advantage and sent a blood freezing curse into his side, before making her escape with Snape and the others. I was lucky to live that night. With the duel draining a large chunk of her reserves, the curse wasn't as powerful or as fast acting as it should have been. He'd been found nearly 15 minutes later by Lupin, who'd dragged him to the hospital wing for treatment. That being having the counter-curse cast, then having his major arteries carefully sliced open to drain the sludge whilst practically saturating himself in blood restorative potions.

He'd wallowed in guilt and self loathing for a good couple of days after that. Because of his hot headedness and eagerness to battle Bellatrix, he'd abandoned Dumbledore to a two on one duel, the man already poisoned, exhausted and dying. And he'd left him to it for his craving for vengeance. If he'd just kept a level head they would have been able to work together and defeat all three of them before Malfoy or Snape even got anywhere near them.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny had tried their best to reason with him and work him through his guilt, but he'd vowed to never again lose his focus in any of his future battles with dark wizards. Bulldoze right through them and never fuck around when there's lives on the line. It would cost several of the more arrogant death eaters their lives at first, before he became known for his 'take no prisoners' approach to fighting.

Voldemort had wasted no time in setting wheels in motion with his biggest threat now out of the way. Barely 2 months after Dumbledore's death he threw a brutal and bloody takeover of the Ministry of Magic, slaying any opposition or anyone who could pose a threat to him down the line. Several Lord's and Lady's of the Wizengamot,as well as Scrimgeour were executed personally by the dark lord, and with it any of Dumbledore's political allies.

As soon as the news had reached them, Ron and Hermione had gathered their already packed supplies and were on the run from the now corrupt Auror force that raided Bill and Fleurs wedding. Harry had stayed behind to help members of the order escape, becoming quickly noted for his impressive but aggressive fighting skills. With the last person to run being Lupin, he'd quickly activated a portkey to a meet up point in London where he caught up with his two best friends, before they immediately went to Grimmauld Place to set up a base of operations.

He managed to convince Ron and Hermione to focus completely on finding the Horcruxes, giving them as much information as he could to help them narrow down any potential hiding spots. He'd then leave to hunt down any of the well known death eaters, destroying any of their safe houses or busting up gangs of them who began hunting muggles or any witch or wizard that needed to be put in their places. Somehow along the way, he ignited a fire in the common magic users. And soon open rebellion and hit and runs were becoming a common occurrence, much to Voldemorts ire.

In order to quell the rebellion, he captured several of the more well known light side witches and wizards. Amongst them was Remus Lupin and his pregnant wife, Tonks. Voldemort trapped them inside a pit on the night of a full moon with Fenrir Greyback and his werewolf pack. Then he had broadcast it over the wizarding wireless and given exact details of what was happening. As if the sounds alone weren't haunting enough, the gleeful voice of Voldemort commentating as if it was some sort of sport was sickening. He took great pleasure in describing as the transformed Lupin tried to defend his blood traitor wife and half breed spawn, only to be overrun and mauled. Wild laughter rang out from the death eater crowd as Voldemort pointed out Greyback had began mauling on Tonks, finally ripping open her stomach and devouring her unborn child before his pack mates ripped her apart.

The same child Remus and Tonks had recently asked him to become Godfather to.

In response, Harry had apparated to Malfoy Manor, the major stronghold of the Death Eaters. And burnt it to the ground.

It was the first and only time he had truly lost it. Such a towering rage had clouded his mind, overcoming his grief and sorrow, before merging into pure, utter, burning hatred. Apparating to outside of the wards he'd strode forward, and who did he come across of all people? None other than Draco Malfoy himself. Didn't even give him a chance to react before he was blasted with an overpowered disarming curse, throwing him backwards and into the hedges. He didn't get up for more. Harry had then continued until he hit the edge of the wards before bringing his wand to bare above him, slashing downwards, and with every ounce of hatred he had, he cast a curse he swore to Dumbledore he would never attempt.

Fiendfyre. Cursed flames. Unable to be extinguished by normal or enchanted water, it would seek out and burn anything and anyone in it's path.

It's form was almost that of a phoenix, if a phoenix was ever to become a bloodthirsty and sadistic mass of dark fire. It had broke through the wards like paper and within moments was devouring the manor. Apparently half of the inner circle had been there that day, as well as over sixty various death eaters.

It wasn't until later that Hermione had found him, surrounded by fire whiskey and collapsed in a trashed room at Grimmauld. Ron had found out from his brother that the dark lord had apparently been holding prisoners at his main compound. Malfoy Manor.

One of them being Luna Lovegood.

One of the few friends he'd made in his recent years at Hogwarts, and she was dead. Because of him. He was catatonic for days. It had been a powerful, yet anguishing reminder that his actions would always have consequence.

It was a long while before he got back to the war. During that time Ron and Hermione had somehow gotten a hold of two of the Horcruxes. The locket from the hands of Delores Umbridge, and the cup of Hufflepuff from Gringotts. To his complete amazement, they had somehow got their hands in the sword of Gryffindor, which gave them the means of destroying the wretched things. His friends had been wary and stubbornly silent on how they'd pulled all this off, citing only that it was done and they needed to focus on the final two pieces.

They had then shared the knowledge that they believed the final two pieces were Ravenclaw's diadem, at Hogwarts, most likely in the Room of Requirement. And Nagini, Voldemorts snake that almost never left his side. They had then sat him down and passed on some information they had received from Bill Weasley. Apparently, in one of their raids they had come across Mr Ollivander, who had proceeded to tell them of the dark lords obsession over the Deathly Hallows. In particular, the Elder Wand.

Harry had sat quietly as they had told him of the story. Of how three brothers had received gifts from death itself. An unbeatable wand, a stone to resurrect the dead, and a cloak to hide from even death itself. It would make sense for Voldemort to be after an unbeatable wand, and according to Ollivander, it's last known master was Grindelwald. Which meant, if it exchanged loyalties to one who beat the other in battle, it had went to Dumbledore.

They had then theorised that since Snape had killed Dumbledore, he was the new master of the wand. Harry quickly realised it hadn't been Snape to disarm Dumbledore, but Malfoy. Who he had disarmed during his razing of Malfoy Manor. He had a feeling that would be an important fact in the near future.

It hadn't taken much time before they had got inside Hogwarts and discovered the Horcrux in the ROR, just as they'd predicted. Not predicted was when Draco and his goons had ambushed them, the fools casting Fiendfyre in an attempt to kill them. It had destroyed the room, the horcrux and Crabbe.

XXXXXXXX

Grabbing at his now empty bottle of whiskey, Harry blearily shook his head before shuffling to his feet. Stretching, he waved his wand behind him and headed upstairs to one of the bedrooms he'd commandeered as his own, the lights smothering our behind him. Falling flat on the bed, Harry didn't even bother to remove his clothes. It has been almost four days since he last got a good night's sleep. The alcoholic haze he was in made it feel even more great as he snuggle into a pillow, his mind drifting over that final battle as he slowly began to drop off.

Following it all, it had lead down to a massive open battle on the front lawn of Hogwarts. It seemed Voldemort had made the discovery of his missing Horcruxes and came directly to Hogwarts to kill him. How flattering, really. The battle had been the most intense experience of his life, not only did he have to deal with a massive amount of spells being directed at him by anyone in black hooded robes, he also had the dark lord barrelling down to seek and destroy his skinny arse.

When they say a dude's the most evil, powerful dark lord in their entire history? They weren't just handing that title out on a whim. It had taken everything he had just to weather the blows from him. All the training he had went through had helped against the death eaters, even some members of the inner circle. But that was nothing compared to their master. Eventually, he'd taken a hit he was too slow to dodge. Didn't help that it was a killing curse.

_Flashback/Memory_

As much as I expected to die, I just hadn't actually thought about what that would _mean. _Obviously death happens eventually, and you can accept that. But when it happens its an entirely different thing.

Looking around, I noticed I was in an expanse of white. Everywhere I looked, nothing but an endless white void. I furrowed my brows as familiarity tickled at the back of my mind.

_'I've...been here before...haven't I?'_

Turning, I caught sight of someone I didn't expect to see at all. Albus Dumbledore himself was standing there, dressed in colourless robes that were so unlike his usual flamboyant robes it momentarily gave me pause.

Smiling gently, Dumbledore opened his mouth, no doubt to answer some of the many questions that were buzzing through my head.

Then he fell through a hole in the floor...

Blinking stupidly, I watched as a hole the size of a manhole cover slowly closed, leaving the marble like white floor pristine and appearing untouched as if random hole appearing were an ordinary occurrence.

"What. The. Fuck?" I uttered in dumbfounded confusion.

"Hmm" Came the sound from behind him.

.

Turning sharply, I came face to face with a gentleman I'd never met before. A gentleman with red hair, wearing a tan jacket, with a brown vest worn over a white shirt and green tie, tucked into a set of brown trousers. He had a small, polite smile on his face. His arms crossed behind his back in a relaxed stance as he watched me.

There was that familiar tickle again.

"Chin up, Mr Potter. Almost there now" He spoke in an upbeat tone.

I shook my head slowly. "O-kay? Who are you?"

"Oh? So it _was_ repression? Hmm, how fascinating"

"Repression?"

He shook his head, smile still in place. "Never mind that, Mr Potter. I believe you have something you should be doing right now?"

Voldemort. Then I wasn't...?

"Dead? Not quite."

Okay that was weird, did he just...

"Read your mind? Of course not. Sounds like a terribly rude thing to do"

...Seriously? What the _hell_ was going on here? Where was he?

"Not where, Mr Potter..."

My eyes widened "...But when" I breathed. How did I know that?

His smile widened into a small grin as he inclined his head towards me. "We'll be in touch about that debt, Mr Potter"

There was a spinning sensation, and he soon felt as his heart began to beat wildly in my ears.

I gave a great shuddering gasp, someone let out a cheer and yanked me to my feet. Still getting my bearing, I noticed the taste of blood in my mouth. That's a bit of a gash on my head, what the hell hit me on the landing? I noticed it was Ron who had pulled me up, Hermione standing next to him. She's been crying, although I suppose I _had _been hit by the killing curse.

"Harry! We got it! We got the snake! You can do it Harry, he's mortal now!" Hermione spoke with fervour.

Snake? Oh...Right. Horcrux, Dark Lord. Well, lets go for round 2 then!

Grabbing my wand I made my way forward, I could spot Voldemort getting to his feet in the distance. Wow he looked pissed as all hell. He too began striding towards me, a snarl pulling at his thin mouth, red eyes glinting in unrestrained rage. Raising his wand, he howled "You shall fall before me Potter! With Snape dead, the power of the Elder Wand is mine!" Quickly he fired off a killing curse.

I responded with the first curse that jumped to my mind. "Expelliarmus!" Whoops, all that training and he chose _that_ spell? He'd never live this down if he lives through this.

To my surprise, the wand ripped itself from Voldemorts grip and flew towards me. Grabbing it with seeker reflexes, I watched as his Killing curse suddenly rebounded and struck Voldemort in the chest, his eyes widened in pure shock as he stumbled back.

Oh yea. I grinned through bloodied teeth and shouted at the staggered monster "Who said Snape was the Master? He never disarmed Dumbledore!"

Voldemort froze in disbelief, his mouth working soundlessly before his body began to break off into wisps of dust. Before he could blink, his form vanished into dust before dispersing in the wind.

Well...That was anti-climatic. I continued to grin at where the bane of my existence previously stood. It was over. I had won!

Hermione and Ron ran up, slamming into him and pulling him into a group hug as they laughed and shed tears. Finally, their nightmare was over.

_End Memory/Flashback_

In the darkened room of #12 Grimmauld Place, Harry's sleeping form lay sprawled on his bed. Completely dead to the world, lost to his memories and dreams, he never noticed two figures standing in his room observing him.

"I think it's time"

"Really? Well he has certainly proved himself a capable sort. Shall we begin the preparations?"

"Indeed. Let's get to work sister"

"Always so eager to get started, dear brother"

A flash of lightening illuminated the room, shining off the pair's red hair. Soon as it passed, they were gone. Leaving nothing but the sound of the rain pattering off the window as the storm began winding down.

**A/N Holy crapbiscuits! That took a heck of a lot more time to write than I thought it would! Think I may start pacing out my updates after this one, once a day is clearly a bit much.**

**Well there we go, a quick recap on this Harry's particular exploits. Since I'm mostly using knowledge I remember from other fics I know I probably missed out plot points of some kind, so if you could kindly point any you notice that leave massive holes.**

**To _Gilgamesh The King of Heroes _and _vanetsu._****Thanks for the feedback! Replacing Booker seems to be the best direction to follow . More potential to experiment with the story is indeed tempting me. Just piecing it all together is the challenging part.**

**The hard part should hopefully be over with that, and moving over to Infinite should be less of a hassle to write...maybe?**

**As always, drop a couple reviews guys. Feedback helps me decide where to take this story!**


	4. When a Lutece comes calling

**When a Lutece comes calling.**

**A/N It's currently 6am as I've finished and uploaded this chapter, any mistakes are most likely because I can barely see the monitor at this point. You have been warned :P**

Harry Potter cringed as he blearily awoke from his alcohol induced slumber. It had been some time since he had hit the bottle that hard, but the haunting memories of his past had arisen stronger than they had in months the previous day. After a 2 week stalking of a man who eventually was revealed to be a founding member of a black market importing scheme, his mood had fallen into rapid decline.

It was certainly one of the curses of his job. As a hit wizard it meant he was continuously neck deep in the more shady parts of the magical world. Spending so much time interacting with and observing some of the most depraved and disgusting members of the dark sides underbelly and their actions had long since jaded him. He'd lost a lot of his naivety quickly over the years dealing with such animals, those who made a living upon the suffering of others.

It didn't help his soul any better with the amount of said animals he'd had the personal pleasure of putting down for good. At the start he'd felt pity for them, clearly they must have been in dire straights to turn towards the dark arts. Some turned to it in a quest to understand the inner workings, good men attempting to broaden the understanding and work out how to counter certain elements. Others simply fell in with the wrong crowd, naively casting dark magic and falling deeper into the sweet temptation, their minds twisted and warped.

How many foolish young people had he been forced to kill who had fallen down such a path? Kids who had become so addicted to the magic that had ruined their minds and cursed their bodies to suffer unless they cast more? Too many.

Then there were those who willingly succumbed, blackening their magic and souls in the belief that it would make them into legends, gain them great riches and world wide notoriety. People who took pleasure in the pain dark magic inflicted on others, in the destruction of lives. Those who wished to follow the paths of the former Lords of the Dark, Voldemort and Grindlewald.

People who wished to burn the world and all who inhabit it.

He'd soon started loosing any pity towards these individuals. And as sick as he was of all the fighting and killing, he still felt he had a duty to the innocents of the world to seek out and destroy all those who sought such goals of domination and slaughter. If killing a mad man bent on murder and torture meant children could grow untouched by the dark, he'd do it. If it meant a young couple somewhere could flourish and grow in the desires of love and family, he'd destroy any evil just to give them that.

He'd kill his heart so nobody would suffer as he did. Seen what he'd seen. Or had to do what he had done.

Shaking his head softly, Harry let out a sigh as he stood and made his way to the bathroom. Yes, he was a scarred shell of a man nowadays. But it didn't go without rewards. His god-daughter Rose was a good example. Ron and Hermione would accept no one else to have the title over their first born child, distant as their friendship had grown in the years following the war. Her smiling happy face and nonsensical gurgles she had made when he first held her had strengthened his resolve to protect innocent people.

Staring into the mirror with blood-shot eyes, his face frowned at the length of facial hair he had. He really hated shaving, it was such a tedious task. He'd thought he was one of those guys with slow growth, but once he'd hit nineteen the stubble had become a near permanent feature. Guaranteed after he shaved it off he'd have a halfway decent 5oclock shadow by supper time.

Shaking his head he went to work with a pair of scissors. Muggle shaving had become habit by now, sometimes having to go for long periods where he wasn't able to use magic. He preferred a blade and shaving foam over using his wand anyway, same with cleaning his teeth, it just felt more hygienic to him than simply waving a wand.

XXXXXXXXXX

A clean shaven and washed Harry walked down the stairs of his home, his feet guiding him to the kitchen for breakfast. Dressed in a pair of pants, half buttoned white shirt with bracer's he made his way into the kitchen. With the death of Kreacher and Dobby he'd lost any interest in employing another house elf. Not to mention what a tongue lashing Hermione would give him over it. As he went about gathering ingredients, he paused as he caught sight of a half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on top one of the counters. Without hesitation he picked it up and took a swig, relishing the burning that went down his throat and settled in his gullet. Merlin if his friends caught him he'd get another one of _those_ talks.

If he wanted to drink then merlin dammit he'd do so, regardless of the hour. He'd sacrificed enough in his life to be allowed this one comfort.

Finishing his modest meal, me made his way back upstairs to his study. Settling down behind his desk he started shuffling through the scattered parchment in front of him. Taking another hearty swig of whiskey, he grabbed a book an began reading through it, marking any notes down as he went along.

This had been one of his major obsessions since the war had ended and he found himself any free time. With permission from the Department of Mysteries, he had delved into any and all records and notes they had on the Veil of Death. Nothing had yielded any answers to how he had survived, but he had a strong suspicion it was to do with the strange static like portal he had witnessed before he'd been tossed.

It was infuriating. In all the hundreds of years the Veil had been studied, what he saw had never been seen before. In fact, many of the Unspeakables had suspected it may have just been his mind playing tricks on him after his exposure to the Cruciatus curse.

But he knew better. He could feel it burning inside his very being. A desire to discover just what he had stumbled across, and how it had come into being had plagued his thoughts for many a year. His research had led him down into an obscure branch of magic that had only ever been theorised and never put into practice.

The magic of stepping through dimensions. Muggles had only recently began theorising into the possibility of alternate dimensions, whereas Wizard kind had know of their existence since the middle ages. After all, time travel was possible. What's to say travelling to alternate realities wasn't also a possibility?

That also was a point of frustration. While it had been accepted as being possible nobody had ever actually experimented on the idea. According to the archives of the DOM, they had been looking into doing so back in the 1800's. But the rise of a dark lady plaguing the country had distracted them from doing so. And following her defeat, they had moved onto studying various rituals that she had created. Dimension travel had been forgotten about.

Scowling, Harry threw his quill down before bringing his hand up to pinch his nose. Every attempt at understanding the Veil had lead to a brick wall. He was frustrated by this, as not only was he failing to prove that what he saw had been a link to his survival, it also meant that his hope of tracking down Sirius was rapidly dwindling.

If his theory was correct, and the Veil was in some way a link between dimensions it would mean that his godfather may be alive, just in another reality. What kind of reality that may be he had no idea. Heck, who's to say he hadn't arrived in a reality where Voldemort had won the war? If that was the case then he'd most likely be dead either way.

But he could feel it, deep in his gut. A sense that he was still alive. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but if there's one thing he's learned to trust over the year it had been his instincts. Especially his gut related instincts.

Moving to take another swig of his whiskey, he gave a grunt of displeasure when he discovered it was empty. Tossing the bottle into a small waste basket next to his desk, he winced as the glass clattered loudly on top of a pile of similar bottles.

'Maybe I am drinking a bit too much these days' He pondered darkly.

He was distracted from his brooding when a sharp knocking echoed from the hallway.

Frowning, Harry expanded his senses towards the Ward's he had covering the house. They were still working perfectly fine. But then how had someone been able to approach his front door without him being alerted? Only a few people had access to the Secret of his Fidelus charm to begin with.

Warily making his way towards the front door, he palmed his wand and approached it cautiously. Tapping his glasses, his vision of the door faded as he stared through the wood thanks to one of the many enchantments he'd placed on them over years.

Weird, there was no one there. Tapping his glasses to check for any potential hidden threats, he cautiously opened the door when nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

Glancing around, his eyes fell to a small, brown parcel sat innocently on his doorstep. Bending down he began to cast a few spells in order to check for any curses, his eyes scanning the empty street around him.

Getting no readings, he picked up the parcel and closed the door behind him. Walking back to his study he observed the package through another of his enchantments, noticing that there was no magic at all upon the parcel. It was perfectly harmless, nothing out of the ordinary.

Apart from having appeared on his doorstep after being deposited by someone who'd got by his Fidelus charm, not setting off a single one of his perimeter wards, and been able to soundly disappear after doing so. No, nothing unusual there at all.

Sitting at his desk he began to unwrap the parcel, revealing two books. Frowning, his eyebrows rose in incredulity as he read the titles upon both.

_The Principles of Quantum Mechanics_ and _Barriers to Trans-Dimesional Travel_ by R. Lutece.

Mouth partially agape, his mind began whirling. Nobody knew about his research project, he'd been careful not to let either his best friends in on it. All of the Unspeakables were under secrecy oaths and binding magical vows, there was no chance that they'd let something slip when it would cost them their magic. But then how? And for what purpose had they given him these books?

And that name. Lutece. His mind gave a small twinge in recognition, but he couldn't recall why. Had he read something by this author before somewhere? It was so..._familiar_. Like the answer was on the tip of his tongue.

Getting up, he grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey and made himself comfortable. Cracking open the _Principles of Quantum Mechanics_ he settled in for a good couple of hours worth of reading.

XXXXXXXXXX

The light from the morning sun had begun creeping into the room when Harry finally lay down Barriers to Trans-Dimensional Travel, reaching under his glasses to rub at his eyes. Dark circles had begun to appear under them from his all night session, but his green eyes were alive for the first time in months.

Unbelievable. This book was from a muggle woman of all things, and it had been published in _1912_. That was insane! This woman was a genius. Not only had she discovered how to indefinitely suspend an atom in mid-air, she had gone on to theorise that manipulating quantumly entangled atoms could be a way to communicate through space-time barriers. Following this, there was a possibility that this could be broadened into viewing alternate realities and one day cross into them entirely!

Standing, he began to pace as his thoughts began racing. This was an entirely different approach to the situation. Using physics instead of magic, it opened up possibilities that the answers he needed were not in the wizarding world at all, but in the muggle one instead. He'd need to research and begin to try and contact some of the physicists who worked in this field. For all he knew they may have succeeded by now!

He paused. But wouldn't that be known by now? Even if it was a top secret project, something as big as this must have left evidence of it's existence by now right? Although thinking about it, this book proved that suspending atoms in mid-air was possible, then why hadn't he seen any evidence of this before now? Rosalind Lutece had theorised that it would be possible to float an entire city with this sort of breakthrough. Wouldn't more living/working space such as this been put into effect immediately by governments world wide? It didn't make any sense.

"I see your starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together Mr Potter" Came an unexpected voice.

Blurring round, wand palmed Harry shot off a vicious stunner towards the unknown voice, ducking behind his desk before the spell had a chance to launch forwards.

Heart racing, he paused when his spell slammed into one of his bookcases, sending books flying across the room. Narrowed eyes darted around in an attempt to find the mysterious intruder inside his study.

"Dear me, now what did your bookshelf do to deserve that?" Another voice queried.

Spinning around, Harry quickly fired of a banisher, only to once again miss any form of target. He let out a growl of frustration when his spell destroyed his liquor cabinet, destroying many, if not all, of his stockpile.

"Well done, you _have_ been drinking a little too much recently. That's one way of getting off the drink"

"Brother, I think we should introduce ourselves. He seems a little high strung at the moment"

"Oh dear, your correct sister. If Mr Potter were to calm down we'll reveal ourselves. We're only here to talk after all"

Harry grit his teeth harder, moving in a swift circle as the two voices came from different directions of the room. "I'll calm down when you tell me how the fuck you got in here without my knowing"

"Oh my, such language! You'd think he'd be a little more grateful after all we've done for him"

"Grateful for actions he doesn't remember us taking, you mean?"

"Oh. Of course. _Repression_. I'd quite honestly forgot"

"Most unlike you to forget the details, sister dear"

"Hush Robert"

Harry tensed when, out of nowhere, two red haired figures revealed themselves to him. He fired off two stunners, he'd get answers after. He paused when his spells simply flew through them. _'What the hell?'_ He thought in surprise.

"If your quite done Mr Potter, we really need to talk" The male spoke first.

Harry's wand didn't move so much as a waver as he trained it on the pair, his body tense and his eyes uncertain. He'd never encountered such a defence, and they appeared to be surprisingly relaxed despite his aggressive posture.

"Who are you? What do you want?" He bit out.

The man nodded his head, his arms crossed loosely behind his back "Third times the charm I suppose. I am Robert Lutece, and this is my sister Rosalind" He indicated the distant looking woman.

Harry's brain tickled again.

"Third time? What are you on about?"

Rosalind sighed "He means that this is the third time we've had to do these introductions. They are getting a bit wearisome"

"But I've never met you before, and I'm pretty good at remembering face" Harry scowled.

"Remembering is the key word, the fact is you don't"

Harry grip tightened. Had he been obliviated at some point? Who were these people?

"Your not helping our case sister, you remember that magic can, in fact, erase memories?"

Shaking his head he faced Harry "Well fear not Mr Potter, your memories are untouched by us. After all, we are...what do you call them? Muggles?"

That threw Harry for a loop. How the hell did a pair of muggles get the drop on him in his home? A home which boasted protective wards so powerful they could rival Hogwarts? The very idea was ludicrous!

"To cut to the chase Mr Potter, we're here to negotiate for your services in a matter we believe your best suited to dealing with" Robert cut off his train of thoughts.

Harry snorted "Do I look like some sort of mercenary for hire to you? If you wanted my help I'd suggest you go through the department. Well...I would if you were magical at least"

Robert shook his head "This is not something that anyone else can know about, there are too many variables if we were to involve more people than what's necessary. No, Mr Potter, we're asking you personally because we know your the best choice. A fresh perspective on an old problem, you could say"

"Well you can take your request and shove it. I don't just help anybody at the drop of a hat, especially people who barge into my home to make demands of me" Harry growled.

Rosalind spoke up "We all know that's untrue Mr Potter. Would you really turn down our request, when it involves saving a young girl who has been held in captivity all her life?"

Harry felt his heart twinge a little. He'd always felt a soft spot for children who were in any sort of trouble. But at the same time, he was very wary to take the words of two trespassers who'd gained access to his inner sanctum. The one true place he felt he could relax his guard, and they had just broken that.

Wait a minute...didn't he say there names were Lutece?

"Hang on. Are you related to R. Lutece? The woman who wrote _The Principles of Quantum Mechanics_ and _Barriers to Trans-Dimesional Travel?"_

"Ah so you've read through the books we left for you? Excellent. To answer, I'm not related to her no. I am the author herself" Rosalind replied.

Harry frowned "That's impossible. Lutece wrote these books back in the 1900's. You couldn't...possibly be..." He trailed off as a thought hit him.

Gaze sharpening, he began observing the two in front of him. There were a lot of similarities between them, even if they were twins. Too many, they were nearly identical. But they didn't seem to show the level of closeness twins had with their other half. These two acted like they had known each other all their lives, but there were little tells that showed they weren't as close as they portrayed. Impossible, if they had grown up alongside each other all there lives. But the books she had wrote...

Mouth thinning, he spoke his theory "Your not brother and sister are you? Your theory on communicating between space-time barriers. You seemed almost too sure on it's applications, without having any proof to back it up. You succeeded didn't you? He's not your brother. He's a male version of you from another reality. You've figured out how to cross dimensions"

He felt a smirk creep upon his face as both Luteces gaped, actually open mouth _gaped _at him. Seems he was right on the money with that one. But if they had figured out how to cross dimensions, how had they worked out time travel. Unless. Did some dimensions move at a different pace than others? Was their original dimension set around the early 1900's, whereas his had moved moved along to 2000 at a faster rate of time?

Robert regained his speech first "That's...that's extremely well spotted Mr Potter, I had no idea you had such powers of deduction. You are correct, we are in fact different versions of ourselves from separate realities"

"This girl you want me to save. She isn't from this reality either is she? Perhaps not even this time period?" Harry guessed.

Flustered, Rosalind replied "Well, no, to be honest. But she will be critical if..."

"I've heard enough" Harry interrupted. "I'm sorry, but I cant go hopping through dimensions to save every damsel in distress. I have enough trouble trying to save people in my time, here and now. I realised a long time ago that you can't save everyone. I'm sorry"

Robert was frowning, his polite smile gone as his brow furrowed in worry...and apprehension?

"Is that your final answer Mr Potter?" He asked quietly, his eyes locked intensely upon Harry own.

Nodding his head in reply, Robert gave small sigh, as he straightened slightly and folded his arms behind his back.

"Then I must apologise for what I'm about to do. Harry James Potter, I call upon the life debt that exists between us, forged by my hand saving you from death caused by wounds that were fatal. I call upon you, to save a young girl and protect her and to escort her to safety. Bring us the girl, and your debt will be fulfilled. So I have spoken, so mote it be"

And to Harry's horror, he felt his magic swirl and bind him to the request.

**A/N Well there we go, another step forwards. Sorry for the delay, it's been a surprisingly fast week, with barely any time to sit down and relax.**

**So, the plot thickens. I'd had it in my head for a while that the whole Debt angle could be worked with like this, seems like it works well into a plot piece. Harry's whole knowledge on the Lutece's origins as well as the physics behind it is more for the reader than anything. Harry isn't suddenly a super physicist.**

**In answer to some reviews:**

**Guest: Your inquiry into pairings, not gonna lie, I'm leaning hard on an Elizabeth/Harry pairing. But we shall see what sort of relationship people are interested in seeing develop between the two.**

**BobSquirrelKing: 1st off, awesome name! Second, thank you for such a great review, it's nice to see the thoughts of a reader in such detail. Yes, I noticed the POV fluctures after I read your review, missed that during the edits I think. It's my first story in like 7 years so I'll probably make mistakes like this. But the power of editing shall fix it when I get the chance!**

**BlazeStryker: You sir, are scary. Seriously, one of my early notes mused on a story where Sirius ended up as Comstock before I scrapped it! Then you mention Sirius in Rapture...that's a story all on it's own asking to be written, or perhaps a sequel down the line somewhere? And yes, Harry will most likely receive that wrench to the face. It was one of Elizabeth's bad-ass moments I feel.**

**As always guys, drop a review and let me know your thoughts and feels! **


	5. There's Always A Lighthouse

**There's Always A Lighthouse.**

"_It is my theory that without this, focus or anchor, of sorts, that this new energy cannot be harnessed outside of it's own dimension. Never mind that very few people have these so called 'spiritual pathways' and 'core' that appears to be the key in interacting and using said energy in the first place. I can only theorise what may happen to any user who steps outside of their dimension. It would most likely be rather unpleasant_"

-Rosalind Lutece, A Study of Magic

Harry awoke with a small start, a few drops of rain began to slide down his face, tickling his skin as they slid down past his nose. Removing his glasses he tiredly ran his hand through his hair before wiping any excess water off his nose. Sitting up a little straighter from the slouched position he had apparently dosed off in, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

The strong sea smell was usually something he found small pleasure in the few times he had been near the vast open waters. A few times he had been able to enjoy that old tradition of fish and chips by the beach in the summertime. Now however, as he sat in a small wooden row boat with two people in bright yellow raincoats, it only served to remind him of the current situation he'd been dragged into.

A fucking magical life debt. How the hell did he even get involved in one of those in the first place? With a muggle of all people. Although admittedly, he couldn't think of any muggles that were anything like Robert and Rosalind Lutece. What with the whole being stuck between dimensions and being able to see any and all possible future outcomes in an infinite number of realities and dimensions thing they had going on for them.

It did make them rather unique was a simple way of putting things.

At least he'd finally made a breakthrough on his quest to travel different dimensions. Although to be fair, he hadn't exactly done any of the work. Just caught the attention of a pair of eccentric physicist's who had decided to drag him on a mission of theirs with little regard to his own desires regarding said mission.

First a prophecy foretelling he had to destroy the darkest sorcerer the world had seen since the dark ages, now a trip into another dimension to save a girl from some mad man with a city of religious fanatics hailing him as a prophet of some kind.

'_Just another day at the office_' He thought wryly.

Ignoring the rocking of the boat with practised ease, he gazed upwards towards the murky dark clouds. The rain was about to come down heavier soon he expected, and he caught a few streaks of lightening on the horizon ahead of them accompanied by the odd rumble of thunder rolling past above. His hand moved towards the elder wand attached to his arm holster to cast a water repelling charm before he paused.

As it turned out, his magic hadn't taken kindly to his little stroll between realities. When the Lutece's had first brought him to the coast of Maine, he had immediately felt his magical energy begin to writhe and twist in apparent anger. His core had began to throb and burn near his centre, just behind the lungs. He'd then quickly fallen to his knee's and began to cough up blood, his vision descending into a static of colours and a ringing echoe began inside his ears.

Robert had termed it a Flux, although apparently it wasn't as severe as the first one he'd had (yet couldn't remember). Personally he called it a centralised Crucio to the chest followed by drowning on land via his own blood.

When the worst had passed, he had felt extremely drained and empty. Rosalind had then warned him that without the stabilizing agent that was present in his dimension, using his magic in this one was simply inconceivable. He would have to do this job without the aid of his magical abilities.

Furious, he had raged and cursed at them. If they had been so sure that he was the only one competent enough for this stupid quest, how did they expect him to do it stripped of his biggest advantage?

Robert had immediately replied "Don't think that we looked to you simply for your skills in wielding magic, Mr Potter. We needed someone with a certain strength of character, mental fortitude, adaptability, experience and an uncanny luck against impossible odds. You've more than demonstrated these qualities since our meeting, before them in some cases."

Mollified, Harry had simply shook his head and followed them onto the boat. He had more than a few missions where using magic had been an impossibility, either requiring a heavy need for stealth or being subject to magic dampening wards had indeed given him experience in working without his vast magical ability. But to have no access to it at all for when shit inevitably hit the fan? That was a daunting prospect.

He was brought out of his musings as the 'twins' began to bicker. Taking off his glasses he began to clear any water off, his ears listening in idle curiosity at their little argument.

"So are you just going to sit there?" Robert asked as he rowed their little boat onwards. Ahead of them, Harry could make out a bright light blinking through the dense fog that surrounded them. A lighthouse? Was it a meeting point of some kind?

"As opposed to what? Standing?" Rosalind asked calmly, hunched down and appearing to look for something around her feet.

"Not standing. Rowing."

"Rowing? I hadn't planned on it" Apparently finding what she was looking for, she sat up, held within her hands was a small wooden box. Turning to the side to face Harry, she passed him the box as Robert whined back to her.

"So you expect me to shoulder the burden?"

"No. But I do expect you to do all the rowing"

"Oh? And why is that exactly?"

"Well this was all your idea..."

Tuning them out, Harry looked at the box as he sat it on his lap. On top was a small brass plate, with H. J Potter engraved on the top. Opening it, he examined the contents. Attached to the lid appeared to be two pictures, on the left a hand drawn picture depicting a scroll, a key and...was that a sabre or a sword? They had the numbers 1, 2 and 2 drawn next to them respectively. On the right was what appeared to be a postcard showing some kind of bronze angel with her arms opened in welcome, the title proclaiming Monument Island.

Lifting a brow in query, he rummaged through the items inside. An old fashioned gun with a couple of bullet cartridges, a rather large ornate key with the picture of a bird and a cage on the handle, a small brown bag and what appeared to be a photograph.

Lifting the gun he gazed at it. It reminded him of one he had seen in a couple of old war films that Vernon had been a fan of, was it one of those automatic pistols or something like that? Sliding back the stock experimentally, he noticed the empty chamber. Picking up one of the magazines, he slotted it inside at the base of the gun before palming it in, he pulled the stock again and nodded at the click. Well that wasn't so hard. He swiftly pocketed the other magazines.

Laying it aside he next examined the bag, inside were several silver coins that looked about the size of one of those American quarters. A man with a beard was pictured on it with the words "Father Comstock, Our Prophet and Saviour" written on the rim. Well now he had a face to go with the name at least.

Finally he picked up the photo. It was black and white, showing a young girl who looked around 11 or 12 years old. She had her back to the camera with her head half turned to the right. She had long black hair tied back by a large ribbon, and appeared to be wearing a white dress and holding a book idly in her right hand.

So this was the kid he had to rescue? Girl didn't look like she was being held against her will. Her eyes were wide in apparent happiness and a smile tugged upon her lips. Did she even know that she was being held against her will? That would make coercing her into following him willingly very hard. After all, why would you follow a stranger who offered to 'save' you if you didn't feel you had needed to be saved in the first place?

Flipping the photo over he noticed a message, no doubt scrawled by one of the Lutece's.

_Bring the girl to New York, unharmed._

Alrighty then, he had his objective, his target and now the drop off point. As well as a gun in case things got hairy. All he had to do was get through this and his debt would be complete. Following that, he'd have to try and see if he could coerce them into trying to find and recover Sirius . After that, home. Where he'd never again even try to think of wandering alternate realities and travelling between dimensions. It just gave him a nightmare of a headache.

Raising his head, he caught the tail end of their still on going argument. _'Brother and Sister indeed. Aren't they technically arguing with themselves? Then again, they're clearly both mad in the first place even trying to achieve dimension hopping'_ He mused.

"..and he doesn't row"

"But he's not him is he? Now I'd greatly appreciate it if you would assist!"

"Nonsense, we're here after all"

"What? Oh."

Looking ahead Harry could make out the form of a rather worn looking wooden pier and boat shed, connected to the bottom of the white lighthouse on a small rock. At least there were lights on already, so he assumed their contact was either already there ahead of them or may be the lighthouse keeper himself. Or herself, whatever the case may be.

Robert pulled up carefully next to the pier, where a ladder hung down into the water. Grabbing his wooden box, Harry went first. Throwing the box onto the platform, he pulled himself up the final few rungs, standing and wiping his hands on his black trousers. Turning, he decided to be courteous and went to offer either twin a hand up. Only problem was, Robert was already rowing the boat away.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Harry yelled incredulously.

"Good luck Mr Potter, you'll find a change of clothes inside to help you blend in. We'll see you again in a little while" Robert called back.

"Well is someone meeting me here at least?"

"I'd certainly hope so, seems like a dreadful place to be stranded" Rosalind called cheerfully as they began to fade amongst the fog banks.

Cursing under his breath, and wishing he had his magic so at least he could banish water over the two frustrating individuals, he turned and looked up at the lighthouse. "Guess that's the place to start" He muttered.

Striding forward, he made his way up the stone steps and approached the wooden door. The rain was coming on heavy now and he was looking forward to getting out of it. And apparently they'd left him a set of clothes inside, getting out of these sopping wet robes would be a first priority.

Upon reaching the door, he froze as he saw a piece of paper nailed onto it. The bottom half was splashed what was unmistakably blood. The note read:

_Mr Potter._

_Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt._

_Prove our faith was not unfounded._

What the hell were those two playing at? Now suitably paranoid, he opened his box and withdrew the pistol. Cautiously, he slowly opened the door, cringing softly as it creaked loudly upon swinging inwards.

Peeking his head in, the gun in a relaxed yet ready grip level with his chest, he slowly stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Placing the box upon the ground, he began to examine the room he had entered.

It was sparsely furnished, a large pile or rope lay to his left. Following the curve of the room it lead to some shelving above a set of wooden barrels. To his right he noticed a set of iron stairs leading upwards, but his gaze was drawn to what was in front of him. A basin filled with water, with a pile of hand towels beside it, sat next to a bright candle that was filling the room with a soft glow. Above it hung an embroidery set in frame, the words: _Of Thy Sins Shall I Wash Thee._

Well wasn't that nice. Shame his sins had already been drenched under the relentless rain outside, although to be fair, it would take more than a basin of water or a storm at sea to wash away his sins.

Straining his ears he could make out the sound of music playing upstairs, from a wireless if he had to guess. Placing his gun on the table, he began shrugging off his outer robes as quickly and silently as he could before discarding them, he grabbed a couple of the towels and dried off his face and hair before re-arming himself.

Moving swiftly and silently, he began to descend the stairs, spotting another picture at the bottom that read: _From Sodom, Shall I Lead Thee_. Great, whoever lived here was apparently big on religion. Not that he held anything against people who followed a religion. People are entitled to their beliefs, it just never held any water with him, what with the whole magic equals evil/devil/monster belief many had.

Entering what he assumed was a living area, at least there was a bed and a cabinet with odds and ends strewn across the place, his interest was peaked as he spotted a large map upon the wall above a small desk. Approaching, he noticed it was a map of North America, with several points marked out and connected by a line of red. One of the marked points was apparently this very lighthouse, just off the coast of Maine. Next to that was a schedule of some sorts, showing the arrival and departure of Columbia.

What the heck was a Columbia? A ship of some kind? But the red line connected to areas throughout the land of North America. Strange.

He then noticed a note pinned near the bottom right, it read:

_Be prepared, he will be on his way soon. You must stop him._

_-C_

Shit, was someone expecting him? He had barely begun this stupid mission and the odds were already beginning to stack against him. Fuck Karma, she owed him the biggest return investment the world would ever see to make up for this shit.

Gripping his pistol more securely, he made his way round the pillar in the centre of the room, noting the bed, radio, sink and stove. Then he found the first clue something was wrong. A table had been knocked to the ground, food and broken dishes scatter across the floor. Upon the table was a large bloodstain.

Crouching down, he began to examine the blood. By his reckoning, someone had been sitting at the table before having their head bashed into it, followed by a struggle between two or three people. The blood trail, probably from a broken nose or busted mouth, led up another set of stairs.

Checking his gun, he slowly made his ascent. Noting the bloody hand print upon the wall, he walked passed a final sign reading: _To Thine Own Land, Shall I Take Thee._

He spotted the window at the top had what appeared to be bullet holes through them, an overturned bookcase had scattered books halfway down the stairs. He didn't even need to look for anymore clues as to what had happened to this person, the smell alone began to make that clear.

Surely enough, he came upon a grizzly sight once he reached the next floor. A body of a man was tied to a chair, a bag over his head. The bloody hole in the front as well as the explosive blood spray on the wall behind him told exactly how he'd been killed. Or executed, as the case was.

Pocketing the pistol, he approached the body. The smell was powerful, but he'd dealt with worse. At least this rotting corpse wasn't animated by dark magic to attack and kill him. He noticed the sign draped over his neck, reading _don't disappoint us_, he once again wondered what the hell the Lutece's were playing at here.

Well at least he knew now he was alone, so he went back down to the bottom floor to fetch his box, before making his way back to the living area. Looking around, he spotted a wardrobe that held another note attached to the front.

_New clothes to help you blend in, and a harness for your gun. Happy hunting._

Picking out the clothes, he stripped down and donned them quickly. A pair of dark brown trousers, a black long sleeved shirt, a black leather vest-coat and shiny black boots. Over the vest-coat, he slipped on the duel holsters before fastening his wand holster across his right forearm. Giving himself a once-over, he frowned as he noticed the holsters weren't exactly well hidden, and stealth would be his best bet on this mission. Fumbling through the wardrobe, he found a worn, brown leather coat. Slipping it on, it reached to his knees. And although a little tight on the arms, it hid his holsters and weapons well enough.

Making his way over to his box, he pulled out the photo and stared at it intently for several minutes. Nodding his head, he place it back in the box before heading to the ground floor. There, he sat the box down and grabbed a towel next to the bowl, holding it above the candle, he waited before it caught flame before dropping it inside the box. It didn't take long to catch ablaze, and soon the box and its contents were ash upon the floor.

Scuffing his boot through the ashes until he found the charred metal name plate, he picked it up before walking towards the door. Opening it, he flung it hard into the roaring waves surrounding the lighthouse. Nodding his head, he walked back inside before making his way up to the very top floor, passing by the moonlight streaming inside the window (Wasn't it raining though? Where does it come from then...?)

Satisfied any links to his being there was taken care of, he walked past a final picture reading: _In New Eden Soil, Shall I Plant Thee._

That made him pause. Clearly, this dead man was big on religion right? And wasn't the man behind the girls abduction viewed as some sort of Prophet? Said Prophet already knew someone was coming, that note on the map was signed with C. Comstock.

Understanding dawned on him. This man was a follower of whatever religion Comstock had created, and Comstock knew someone was coming. How much of a bet would it be that this man would have hindered or outright attacked him in an effort to stop him? But the Lutece's took the initiative and stopped any interference from the man. Permanently.

Nodding his head in acceptance, he took a breath before hunching his shoulders, marching out into the rain. Following the path round, he came upon a door that led into the room containing the light, it had an angel carved upon the metal and below it's spread wings were three bells. Carved onto each bell were a scroll, a key and a sabre. Remembering the drawing, he carefully clanged the bells. Once, twice and twice again.

Standing back, he glanced around as nothing appeared to happen. Wondering if burning that card was a bad idea, he was startled when a loud low groan echoed across the sky. If that wasn't enough, it was accompanied by a deep red pulse that briefly filled the sky, shining through the dark clouds. A couple more groans of different pitch came, to which the light in the lighthouse began to pulse red and make strange pitched groans as if in response.

Finally, there was the tinkle of a bell, and to his wonder Harry observed the light begin to twist before moving upwards. The door swung open just in time for him to see the floor swivel, revealing a red metal chair unfolding where the light had moments ago sat.

A quick glance showed the room was barren, except for the chair. He stared at it, slightly incredulous. Seriously? The just expected him to sit in that thing? You couldn't be anymore suspicious even if a sign pointed at it reading: Clearly not a booby trap! We promise!

It seems he didn't have much of a choice on the other hand, so he warily circled the chair before very _very_ reluctantly sitting down in it. Laying back and relaxing a tad as nothing immediately ominous happened, he began to wonder what else he was expected to do before a loud CLANK broke his musings.

He looked uncomprehendingly at the metal shackles that bound his hands to the arm rest. Then he noticed the pieces of metal that began to move around him.

"...No" He muttered, starting to struggle against his bonds.

"Make yourself ready Pilgrim. The bindings are there as a safe guard" A metallic woman's voice came over some hidden speakers. More metal began sliding up and around him, cocooning him in whatever the hell kind of torture device or cage this thing clearly was.

With a hiss of steam they connected, leaving him a small porthole he could see out of, on either side sat some gages he probably should have been taken note of. He was a bit busy trying to not panic as he began struggling more.

He let out a yelp as his seat suddenly flipped downwards. He felt as his gun slipped from it's holster, but was prevented from falling by his coat. He took note of the gears as they began whirling, and he could notice four outlines in the darkness below him.

Then there was fire. Why was there fire!?

"...No, no, no" He fought as hard as he could against his binds, concentrating he began to focus on a wandless _Alahamora _before gritting his teeth at the sudden white hot pain that throbbed in his chest. Merlin damn it now was not the time for him to be without his magic!

"Ascension" The woman's voice spoke.

He froze. Ascension?

"Ascension in the count of five."

Wait, wait a minute!

"Four

That ominous roar that was building in pitch.

"Three"

The fire below him.

"One"

This wasn't some kind of cage or torture device! It was some kind of muggle rocket!

"No, no, no, no, nononononono!"

He felt his stomach lurch as the roaring reached it's peek, and to his horror he saw through the window he was moving skywards rapidly.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuu-" He screamed, gritting his eyes shit tightly.

He could barely hear whatever the mechanical woman was saying, the roaring around him drowning her voice out. '_What a shitty way to die. Let's sit in the obviously trapped chair because there's nothing better to do! Brilliant idea brain!_' He thought furiously.

There was a blinding flash of light, then a sudden silence.

…

…

…

"Hallelujah"

Cracking open his eyes, and noticing he wasn't actually dead. He squinted against the bright sunlight filtering through the window.

His jaw dropped slowly.

"What. The. Fuck"

There was a massive monument of an angel, her arms and wings spread widely in welcome as the sun shone behind her back, basking her form in a warm and beautiful glow.

And below her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, was a city.

A Merlin-be-damned, city. Floating. In the sky.

He watched in numb shock as tall building's floated by, flags waving in the wind. There was a small jolt and a rustle of fabric as his rocket began to gently lower downwards, passing by an unusual blimp made with what look liked wooden wings and tail, with a wooden propeller moving it forwards slowly.

Passing by a building, he took immediate notice of the large poster pasted onto the side of it. The picture showed a man in the later years of his life, his hair and beard were long and white, a solemn gaze peering out from under bushy white eyebrows.

Father Comstock. Our Prophet

His mouth began moving silently, his anger rising, alongside a deep feeling of wary amusement.

"This guy's not only the leader of a religious cult, but he has a flying city?" He groaned in despair.

As his rocket came to a stop with a thump, he had one last thought before he began a descent accompanied by the rattling and clanking of machinery.

_'Fuck this job. Fuck this debt. Fuck the Lutece's, and most of all, fuck Physic's and their flying cities!'_

**A/N Woo boy, that was surprisingly much easier to right into that what I expected. Seems actually getting into the Infinite world means more twisting and experimenting of idea's than actually working on a plausible back story.**

**Then why the long wait for this update, you may ask? Well, it also partly answer's a question from _0Harry. 0_.**

**Fallout: New Vegas.**

**Yea, I got back into that after leaving in alone for a year or so, got the project Nevada mod and fell super deep into it. If I wasn't at work or sleeping, I was on that game. I am a gamer, a PC gamer at that, so thanks to the power of steam sales I have a wide variety of games I own, love and try to play, exceptions being most multiplayer games, MMO's or Horror. RPG's are my thing, especially Elder Scrolls and Fallout 3/New Vegas.**

**NathanHale2 – Cheers dude! I'm trying my best not to follow the Infinite story with harry only being the Booker replacement, but I'll probably stick pretty close until I can work out a deviation that makes sense and works at the right time. But in case I stick it too long, at least I can count on you and others to tell me to stop eh? :P As to the Herm/Ron pairing, not gonna lie it's just a throw in from Canon, they aren't of any importance to the story so don't read to much into it.**

**I am still a n00b at this whole writing thing, my earlier works are cringe worthy yet expected from a 16year old who was fed up of the abundance of Emo Harry, abused Harry and crying little bitch Harry fanfics that were around. Super Harry smash everything is enjoyable, but not very interesting is it?**

**I'm enjoying this though, new idea's are hitting me every time, it's just a matter of sitting down and working out how to join all these idea's into a full length story and not just random drabbles that bubble from my subconscious.**

**As always guys and girls, drop a review and let me know all those thoughts and feels!**


	6. Welcom to Columbia

**Welcome to Columbia.**

_Most fascinating. With a term such as magic you would believe that there may not be much in the limitations on what could be achieved. Indeed, many of their so called 'spells' are mind boggling in their blatant disregard to most of the known rules of science. However, there are in fact rules in regards to what is and isn't possible. Example, in the branch of Transfiguration, the art of transforming one object into another, there is a law stating you cannot change an object into a rare metal, such as copper, gold or silver. It would seem a solid enough rule, except when I discovered an object called a Philosophers Stone. Are these actually rules? Or merely guidelines?_

-Rosalind Lutece, A Study of Magic.

As he grumbled to himself on the unfairness of it all, He took notice of the scene in front of him as his chair began to descend. The first thing he noticed was the sound of woman singing, the clear, soft words of the main woman coming through strong as what could only be a Choir's song echoed throughout the large, cavernous room his 'elevator' began to descend through.

That was the second thing he noticed. The large glass window in front of him was filled with sunlight, in front of it was a swinging pendulum of some sorts, connected to a set of massive gears slowly turning. It made for a strangely beautiful sight. Then he spotted words hollowed out on a piece of iron, the sunlight streaming through and making the words glow in front of him.

Why Would He Send His Saviour Unto Us,

As he descended further, more words began to appear. Was this where new Pilgrims entered into the city? The words were clearly biblical in a sense.

If We Will Not Raise A Finger For Our Own Salvation?

And it continued as he descended.

And Though We Deserved Not His Mercy,

He Has Led Us To This New Eden,

A Last Chance For Redemption.

Then it was a darkened shaft, the glow of red lights appearing every now and then on his rather lengthy descent. Harry sighed, the gist of it seemed to be that Comstock was their 'Saviour' sent by God, who then led the people, unworthy though they may have been, to a glorious new land. He could just imagine how easy it must have been for Comstock to gather these followers. After all, a flying city? Clearly the work of some kind of Deity to those who didn't know any better.

Blinking as he entered another brightly lit room, his eyes focused on the massive stained glass window that showed a crowd of people surrounding the figure of Comstock, who's clothes billowed in an unseen wind. He was pointing dramatically at a city held aloft by the clouds, his other arm held down as if to take the hands and lead the crowd. Above it, on a banner designed like a scroll, read the words:

And The Prophet Shall Lead The People To The New Eden.

Finally he came to a stop, after several seconds the front of the 'rocket' let out a hiss of steam, before rattling loudly as it began to descend into the floor. He gave a sigh or relief as his restraints popped off, and quickly stood and exited the thing before it decided to take off again.

Only to step into a floor filled with water. Growling, he took note that the entire floor was flooded, cascading down from an altar of some kind to his right. And the room was filled with more candles than he'd seen since he'd sat in the Great Hall at Hogwarts! What poor sod had the job of relighting these things?

Sloshing forward, he spared a final glance at the huge glass picture, before shaking his head and making his way to the right, where the only exit was. He could already spot another monument to Comstock in the next room, but what really caught his interest were the words on the sign above the entry.

The Seed Of The Prophet Shall Sit On The Throne,

And Drown In Flame The Mountains Of Man.

Great, just great. As if this Comstock didn't have enough with his cult and his flying city, he apparently wanted to burn the rest of the world away as well. Seriously, would it be such a hard thing for him to settle with being a Prophet, with who knows how many followers and a flying city, without any maliciousness or world dominating ideals?

Sighing, he decided to take a little look around. In the very centre pillar of the next room was a statue of Comstock with his arms outstretched, surrounded entirely by candles. Making his way left he peeked into another room. There were rows of pews facing towards an altar, sat beneath another stained glass window, mostly coloured with blue and allowing a soothing array of colours to fill the room, reflected off the waterlogged floor.

It showed the picture of a woman in an elegant flowing blue dress, her arms were clasped behind her back as she looked outwards with a regal gaze. Below it a sign read:

And In My Womb Shall Grow The Seed Of The Prophet.

So that would be Mrs Comstock then? She looked to be very young in comparison to her husband, but it wasn't too unexpected. Making his way back he spotted another room to the right of the statue. Peering in he was unsurprised to see another stained glass window behind an alter. It showed both Mrs and Mr Comstock. Her hand lay upon his arm, as both gazed down at a small child held by Comstock. Below it was another sign.

The Lamb. The Future Of Our City.

Harry's lips curled softly in disgust. This man's child was apparently 'foretold' to 'drown in flame the mountains of man.' What kind of man would put such expectations onto an innocent child? His own blood at that. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of understanding and pity towards that child. He understood what it could be like to suffer the weight of such expectations to be thrust upon you, wanted or not.

He turned sharply as he heard the slosh of water to his left. He spotted a man on white robes making his way up a set of stairs, and he cursed softly when the man's gaze fell upon him. He moved his hand discreetly under his coat towards his holstered weapon.

The man merely smiled at him, his hands clasped gently in front of him. "Ahh, a new Pilgrim! It has been some time since another has joined us."

Still watching warily, Harry decided to play along. Best be subtle until he could figure out what to do.

"Yes. I've just arrived. Where am I, exactly?"

The man's smile widened. "Heaven, friend. Or as close as we'll see till Judgement Day. You'll want to head down, your just in time for Preacher Witting's service."

Nodding slowly, his hand moved away from his pistol and he made his way past the man down the spiral staircase. He observed more glass windows depiction a key, scroll and sabre on his way downwards. Were they of some significance for this religion?

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and gazed around in a small amount of awe. The room was massive, almost the size of the Great Hall. Several pillars lined the rooms, connected by rows of burning candles. On the path in front of him, stone statues of angels were lined above him holding larger candles in their arms, forming an arch above him as he began to make his way forwards. To his left and right, he spotted several more men and woman in white robes, taking measured steps forwards.

He could hear the words of a man begin to build in volume and fervour as he approached a small circle of people at the end of his path. Behind the group lay a window, clear glass for a change, showing the blue skies outside. He barely paid attention to the loud voice of the Preacher as his eyes roamed, although he could pick up "Father Comstock" and "It would have been enough!" as the man went on.

Peering between the bodies in front of him, he could see the Preacher himself, dressed in darker robes with his arms spread wide and moving with fervour as he gave his sermon to the group of praying people. Behind him he could spot what looked like a corridor, and above a sign that read:

This Path Of Forgiveness Is The Only Way To The City.

Great. How the heck was he going to get through there with all these people standing around watching? He might be able to wait and see if they would disperse on their own, but judging the looks of it that could take a while. Maybe he could have another quick look around and see if there was another exit? After all, surely there had to be more than one way to get into this 'church' other than that one? Or perhaps he could just...

"Is it someone new? Someone from the Sodom below?"

...crap.

The circle of people turned to look at him, parting to either side as the Preacher pointed at him, probably having spotted the dark clothing that contrasted with all the white clothed worshippers.

'Fuck it all' Harry thought darkly as he stepped forwards.

"Have you come to Columbia to be washed clean, my child? Washed clean of your Sins before our Prophet, our Founders and our Lord?" Preacher Witting demanded loudly.

He shook his head in the negative. "I just want to get into the city."

The Preacher chuckled. "My Son, the only way into Columbia is through rebirth in the sweet waters of Baptism."

He held out his hand. "Will you be cleansed, brother?"

Not seeing any other choice, Harry sloshed his way towards the Preacher, his eyes darting around for any unexpected surprises that may be waiting for him if this ended up going wrong. How hard could it be though? Just a dab of water whilst this guy prattled something and he'd be on his way, right?

He stepped forward under the cheers and praise of the worshippers, clasping hands with the old Preacher and standing besides him. The preacher lay his free hand above his heart, and began the Baptism.

"I Baptise you, in the name of our Prophet. In the name of our Founders. In the name of our Lord!"

Then he proceeded to dunk him backwards under the water. Harry ended up with a mouthful of water as he began to gurgle at the unexpected swim. He was quickly brought up as the preacher continued, coughing and spluttering.

Still coughing and trying to draw breath to curse at the man, his eyes widened in panic as the Preacher spoke towards the group of worshippers.

"I don't know, brothers and sisters. But this one doesn't look clean to me..."

Once again he was dunked under the water without chance to draw breath, he felt the man's surprisingly strong grip hold him down as he began to gurgle and thrash. Blackness crept into his vision, and with a surge of panic, he forced the Preachers arm off him and rose quickly. Seeing the man's look of surprise, he grabbed the front of the preachers robe and slammed him backwards into the wall behind him, scarcely hearing the gasps of horror from the crowd.

The Preacher held his hands outwards and didn't move as Harry continued to cough, taking heaving breaths nose as he began to calm a little. His arms were trembling as he glared at the Preacher in front of him, eyes narrowed in contempt and a snarl pulling at his lips.

Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted a couple of the men begin to make their way forwards. He tensed further as he began to work out a possible escape route without having to fight, only to pause as the Preachers voice called out.

"Wait! Do not move, it's alright, everything's alright!"

The men paused in confusion, unsure if they should try and help regardless of the man's wishes. Turning, Harry met the eyes of the man, his breathing still fast and heavy, more so from the adrenaline in his veins than the panic from earlier.

"I'm sorry my Son. I did not know. I did not see" The Preacher met his gaze, giving Harry pause.

Those eyes...grey and cloudy. This man...he was blind.

"I am blind my child. I can not see, but I can feel it. Your grip is strong, and I feel your arms tremble. I can feel the tenseness in your form. There is violence coiled inside of you. I'm sorry to have startled you." His voice was quiet, yet firm. Realising the man hadn't been giving making any attempt at fighting back against him, his fists slowly unclenched and he took a step back from the man.

The Preachers arms reached forwards slowly until he lay a hand on either side of his shoulders, gently this time.

"You have seen death, haven't you my son? I did not know. You have seen war. Just as our Prophet has. A Soldier. Haunted by what you have seen, what Sins you been forced to commit. Is that why you came here child? To seek forgiveness? Understanding? Guidance?"

Shaking his head, the Preacher pressed lightly upon his shoulders to make him kneel, the Preacher following him so they were both upon their knee's in the water. He cupped some water in his hands before letting it drop in a slow stream down onto Harry's head.

"Welcome to Columbia my child. I hope you find guidance and understanding. We will help you to heal" He spoke softly.

Standing, the Preacher patted him on the shoulder before gesturing towards the tunnel behind him. Harry left swiftly without another word, the crowd of worshippers watching him go in pity.

_XXXXXXXXXX_

Before long, Harry stood outside in a garden. He sat slowly on the stone steps and removed his glasses, running a hand up his face and through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck.

That hadn't been what he was expecting. Of all the things he had expected with that little sermon, a panic attack as he was being baptised was not one of them. He couldn't help but think that Preacher needed to learn what the difference between baptism and drowning was, because that's what had nearly happened to him.

It had been many years, but he still had a strong fear of drowning. Thanks mostly to Dudleys attempts when they had been children. He had been alright during the second task of the tri-wizard tournament, he'd been able to breathe freely underwater thanks to the Gillyweed. But that hadn't been the case in there.

And that Preacher. He had been blind, yet even he could apparently tell just how damaged he was. He called him a soldier? Being a Hit Wizard was as close to a soldier as you could get in the magical world, yet clearly both professions had the same effects on a man's spirit and mind.

Taking off his shoes and emptying the water, he couldn't help but chuckle. Seriously, didn't those people get annoyed at having to pray in water that went up to their knee's? What was wrong with having a stone floor or a thick carpet?

Shaking his head he stood and stretched. Best to put that little moment of failure behind him. As long as there was no more threats of drowning ahead of him, he still had a job to do. Quickly glancing around, and noticing nobody nearby, he pulled off his coat and gave it a wring out. Pausing in thought, he pulled his gun out of it's holster and stared at it.

It was completely drenched. Great. Wonderful, even. His only weapon and it was ruined because he'd taken a little dunk underwater. Scowling fiercely he threw the useless weapon behind one of the bushes beside him. Flapping his coat a couple more times, he put it back on, expecting it wouldn't take long to dry out in such good weather.

Making his way down the path ahead of him, he glanced over the railing and spotted a couple of worshippers below in the garden, praying at three statues. One was holding a key, the other a scroll, and the final one a sword.

Blinking, he paused and leaned over the railing, squinting. Wasn't that...?

Was that 3 of the American Founders? What the hell? Were these guys worshipping them? He listened intently at the prayers of the group below, his eye beginning to twitch.

The angel Columbia gave unto them three golden objects. Washington, a sword so the Eden would have strength. Franklin, a key so Eden would have Industry. And Jefferson a scroll so that Eden might have laws.

Seriously? He'd heard that Americans could get very patriotic, but to worship these men as some sort of, what? Messengers of God? That was a little bit on the extreme side.

Deciding he really needed to get moving he began to make his way out of the garden. He came upon a set of doors underneath yet another 'lamb shall burn mountains of men' sign and stepped through.

He was briefly blinded by the sunlight, but as his eyes adjusted he felt his jaw gape. Seriously, what the hell was with this city? It was beautiful! Almost ridiculously so!

Surrounding either side of him were some old fashioned buildings in pristine condition, gently bobbing up and down. Ahead he could see a massive statue of Comstock with a sword raised, his cloak and beard blowing dramatically in the wind. It sat in the middle of a small plaza, with grass at the base of the statue that people were sitting on having picnics. Above it ran 2 sets of steel rails running parallel to each other, across which four massive containers streamed along. In the distance he could make out other sections of the city floating gently in the sky.

Making his way down the steps he was just in time to watch as his section of floating city lined up with a set of steel plating, which lay down and locked together, creating a pathway across. Walking forwards he took not of the people milling around him, keeping an ear on the small mutterings of conversation for anything of interest.

As he walked by a small hot dog stand, he paused as the man waved him over. Shrugging, he stepped towards the cart.

"Good morning Sir! New to our fair city are you?" The man asked jovially.

Harry nodded "Yes, just from the baptism. A little overzealous that Preacher Witting." Play it cool, gather what news you can. Might get him started in the right direction after all.

The man nodded with a laugh "That he is, afraid with his blindness and his passion he sometimes forgets to notice he's holding a man under just a little too long. He doesn't mean any harm though, and you seem to be alright now. Here though!"

He reached down and plucked a sausage off the grill, slipping it into a roll and wrapping a napkin around it before he held it out towards Harry.

"A little welcome to Columbia! And you chose just the right day as well, I'd recommend having a little look around the fair that's going on and seeing what marvels we have to offer."

Smiling tightly, Harry took the food and thanked the man before moving onwards. Passing by the massive statue he could hear a woman complaining about it, how it didn't appear to capture Comstocks 'Absolute Divinity' or some such nonsense. Making his way past a café he caught mention of something.

Vox...Populi? That was Latin. Voice of the People, or something similar?

_'Oh great, please don't tell me there's some sort of movement going on here. I do NOT need that happening on me right now!' _He grumbled internally.

He made his way down the street which was covered in banners. It would appear there was a celebration of sorts going on. That could be good and bad for him. It might mean that people will all be gathered in one place, meaning he could snoop around a little in peace. On the other hand, it may also mean heightened security as well.

He paused as he spotted the bridge in front of him was closed. Great, now he had to figure out how to get by that. He spotted some people had gathered to the railings on the right, so he moved towards the crowd and tapped the arm of a man who was smoking.

"Excuse me, but whys the bridge closed?" Harry asked politely.

"Your just in time lad, the parade's just coming on by. The bridge is up only to let it pass through" the man replied.

Surely enough, after a short wait he spotted a parade floating towards them. As it passed by a man spoke out from a set of speakers.

"After the victory at Wounded Knee, the angel Columbia did present herself to Father Comstock and show him a vision of the future. And so our Prophet led the people away from the Sodom below, up, up into the city, where they created and even more perfect union. But it was the miracle child, the Lamb, that is the future of our city. For the Prophet has said that she in the tower will lead the Sodom below into righteousness."

Wait. His American history was a little sketchy, but wasn't Wounded Knee a slaughter? Did Comstock turn to religion after it? That Preacher said that Comstock was a soldier at one point. But then where did this whole burn the Sodom below nonsense come from?

Then he froze. Wait. Didn't they just say that the lamb was in the tower? The tower where he was currently heading to, to save a girl?

_'Comstock's daughter. Those god-damn fools are making me kidnap Comstocks daughter'_ He thought in horror.

This changed everything. Forget trying to get this girl to co-operate, he had to coerce her into running away from her god damn father. Not to mention the likely case that the tower was probably going to be more defended than Gringotts.

Groaning he ran a hand over his face again. Seriously, what the hell did these two expect him to do without his magic? At this point, his experience and wits, not to mention luck, would only be able to get him so far in this kind of operation. This was going to have to be one hell of a plan he had to work out before even trying to pull anything off.

He made his way through what appeared to be a shopping area of sorts, judging by all the stores. As he was making his way he spotted a strange poster. It had a figure hidden in black robes, hunched over with a crook in it's hand, leading a lamb away from an angel. On it's hands were the letters A.D. The poster read;

The False Shepard Seeks Only To Lead Our Lamb Astray.

Glancing wearily at his mark free hand, he assumed it was another thing to do with their religion and continued on his way. Finally coming through an archway he spotted the colossal statue of Columbia in the distance. Remembering the post card, he realised that must be Monument Island.

"Now how do we get to you" He murmured softly. Spotting another poster it read:

The Tower Protects The Lamb From The False Shepard.

Great, so this place was probably going to fortress as well as a prison. It would take some work to get in there.

_'Might as well start with actually getting there, see if I can scope the place out first before coming up with something.'_

Making his way up the stairs he could hear music and a crowd of people. That must be the fair the man at the hot dog stand had told him about. As he was walking he once again took note of some posters on the wall. They were all advertising something called Vigors.

_'Murder of Crows? Bucking Bronco? Shock Jockey? Devils Kiss? What the hell are these Vigor things?'_ He wondered.

He noticed a locked gateway ahead with two police guarding it. Doubtful he'd get through that way then. Maybe there was another way round by the fair? Climbing the stairway he came across a sight that made him freeze in shock.

Two men were dressed in strange devil costumes as a man on stage was spewing something. That wasn't too surprising.

That one devil had electricity arching between his hands and the other held fistfuls of fire however, that was unexpected. Listening in, the salesman revealed that Vigors were the cause of the magical like abilities. He watched in interest as one threw a blast of energy at the other, who was lifted into the sky where he hovered for a couple of seconds before falling back onto his feet.

First a floating city, now super powers in a bottle? Just what kind of reality had he stepped into where these sort of things existed?

Making his way into the crowd of people he took the time to observe the different stalls that were available. There were a fair amount of food ones, that was a given. One had a group of men could be seen using the Bucking Bronco vigor in a game to catch a devil. Another was a shooting gallery against the Vox Populi. Great, the man labelled them as Anarchists with someone called Daisy Fitzroy being someone of importance.

Then again, he may have need of some support if this Monument Island was heavily fortified. These Vox Populi could come in handy if he needed some force to get inside. What better than a group of anarchists?

Moving by a stage where a band was playing, he made his way back towards what appeared to be a set of gated leading in the direction of Monument Island. He passed a stage where he took the time to stop and observe a man who appeared to be entombed in some massive lumbering metal suite of some kind, his heart clearly viewable through a porthole in his chest piece. This 'Handyman' was apparently a means of extending the lives of the sick and elderly. Shaking his head he continued on his way towards the gate.

It appeared to be locked, with the exception of a machine of some kind in front of it. As he approached it spoke.

"Sorry sonny! All tickets to the Raffle are sold out. Ya hear that? Sold out!"

Raffle? Come to think about it weren't there a couple of posters advertising some sort of raffle?

Deciding he had to find a way through, he did another lap of the fair, pausing to watch some of the attractions or see what other strange alternate technology was. Apparantly the tram lines in the sky were called a sky lane, and it was used for transport of goods, and according to one conversation he overheard, people could use it as well. That was interesting.

Finally he came across a crowd of men standing in front of one of those old strength test games. Hit the hammer hard enough to ring the bell. He spotted a couple of well dressed young men holloring and hooting at one of their friends who took off his jacket and threw it to the side, spitting into his palms and hefting the hammer.

Harry's keen eyes spotted a small ticket hanging out of the breast pocket of the discarded jacket. Excellent.

Plastering a grin on his face he made his way nearer, joining in the group of people cheering their friend. Casually, he picked up the jacket, his hands swiftly swiping the ticket as the man slammed the hammer down, almost reaching the top but not quite.

Handing the jacket to the groaning man, he patted him on the arm. "Always next time mate." He turned and blended back into the crowd as the man's friends surrounded him and began to gently rib at the man.

As he walked Harry unfolded the ticket in his hands. Sure enough it was one of the raffle tickets. He made his way back over to the machine and slotted it into the base.

"Welcome Mr Cobalt! Your looking pretty fit today! New hairstyle as well I see! Make your way through, enjoy the raffle!"

_'Well that wasn't too hard'_ He thought in relief.

Making his way into the next area, he began to make his way forwards past a group of kids playing hopscotch. It was kind of nice seeing them playing games outside rather than shutting themselves indoors playing computer games as the kids in his time did. Who'd want to play video games indoors during weather like this anyway?

Another poster caught his eye. This one was different though, it wasn't a Comstock or Vigor advertisement. This one was a warning.

It depicted the shadowed form of a bird, it's wings spread as sunlight shined behind it and through it's eyes. It read:

Sing Praise To The Songbird.

For He Is The Protector Of The Lamb.

Who, or what, was a Songbird? That could only be trouble for him if it was some kind of guardian over the girl. Running his hand softly over his wand holster, he again felt a building frustration at his lack of magic. He was really starting to wish he had it the more he began to discover on his visit here.

As he made his way closer to the raffle, he could hear the crowd singing along with someone on a microphone leading them. He had to admit, it was quite catchy. Humming along with the crowd he spotted the massive statue of Columbia. By the looks of it, all he had to do was make his way through the park.

The park where the massive crowd of people had gathered for the raffle. Blending in could be a problem. Especially with the amount of police he could spot milling around as he grew closer to the park centre.

He scoffed to himself as he began to move forwards. He'd have to rely on that age old skill of his, his master tactic in dealing with an unknown and most likely hazardous to his health mission.

He'd bloody wing it and hope his luck held out on him.

**A/N Wow, I did not expect that much of a feedback to the whole lack-of-magic thing. Some of you guys got pissed at me for that one.**

**As I've explained in a few PM's with some of you, I thought this would be an interesting little hurdle to start off with at the get go. My argument that this Harry, hit wizard and war veteran, would be super OP to just throw him into Columbia. Some guessed my biggest worry was for appiration/portkeys. My other was of there being no defence against magic as these enemies are, Vigors or not, Muggles.**

**So I thought, right, lets start off by stripping him of those powers and seeing how he'll cope with it. And I'll be honest, at this point I'm at a crossroads on where to go from here. I do plan on Harry receiving his magic back, it's just the when that I'm looking at and whether or not it'll be limited in some way. To begin with I see that as a thing.**

**There's a plot in the works I can apply to this, but then I wonder on what to do with Vigors. At this point, I see little use in Vigors if his magical abilities are going to make a return in a big way. And no, I'm not seeing a connection between drinking salts to boost his magic. That doesn't work with the way I've set things. (I think...?)**

**But the little idea I stumbled upon that I now ask to you guys is: How would you feel with this Harry, due to the hallows, meeting death itself? I'm half and half on the idea simply because this Harry only has the wand and the cloak, but only the wand inside the dimension of Infinite.**

**But the whole 'Death is Infinite' line is ringing in my head under the plotbox.**

**So to put fears to rest, no his magic is ****NOT**** permanently gone. No, this won't be a Harry replaces Booker retelling. Hopefully the few deviations I've slipped in are a good start in showing that.**

**Any other queries or idea's you guys have, leave a review and let me know. The feedback already has showed that deviation is going to be extremely important for a lot of you guys so that's what I'm now working on.**

**P.S As to the slow update, well... Steam Summer Sale just started guys. There's no escape from that as a pc gamer. My poor wallet...**


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